


Inner War

by KaraStorm



Series: Colony War [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 134,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraStorm/pseuds/KaraStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third in the Colony War Trilogy. Not a Stand-alone. Damaged and not trusted by Starfleet, Kirk must recover himself and his career. Spock must decide whether to follow his own path or accept Starfleet as a future. Sarek must learn to trust his remaining son. COMPLETE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hospital

Kirk woke up to the sideways rocking movement of the surface he was lying on. He felt incredibly dizzy and disoriented until he opened his eyes. 

"You're fine, Commander," a strange voice said. 

Kirk lifted his head. He was being transferred off a shuttle inside a high-ceilinged planetside hanger. 

"I can walk," Kirk said. He was strapped down, but only to keep him from rolling off the stretcher, not to secure him.

The woman ran a scanner over him, unhooked the straps while still studying the display. 

"Up to you. You should get a full eval." 

"I don't need one."

She made a dubious face, made a note on her device, moved off to the next gurney.

Kirk got to his feet, followed Riley's equipment encased body into the facility until the surgical unit doors closed in front of him, blocking the way.

No one questioned Kirk as he went from desk to desk, waited to talk to staff with privileged enough access to tell him where the rest of his crew were. They'd been split between two facilities: the more serious in Med Four, the others that needed less than a day of treatment had been sent to an outpatient unit attached to a public hospital. The staff IDed Kirk to prove he had rights to know all of this as their commanding officer. The staff pointed out that he was under orders for an evaluation. He resisted, then turned on the charm, promised he'd get to it as soon as his crew was settled. 

Kirk located Mouse's room first. She didn't seem badly injured, but she'd been admitted to Med Four. She sat quietly a long time before tears began making her cheeks shiny. 

"I want to go back and change it," Mouse said, yet again.

"I know," Kirk said. The visions of those moments of decompression, of empty space sucking everything away, they captured Kirk repeatedly, but fortunately Mouse didn't seem to care that he faded out into memory. That was probably why he spent hours there, expecting to be hunted down. But no one came. He had no communicator to be called on. No one official knew where he was.

Kirk stood. "I need to find Riley. He may be out of surgery."

"Yes, sir." She sniffled. "He looked bad."

"I'm afraid the damage we can see isn't the worst of it." Kirk should not have said that, but he badly needed to. She nodded gravely. Thought nothing of his weakness. He touched her shoulder. "Get better, all right?"

"It's what Jonesy would want."

"It is."

Kirk eventually located Riley in the highest level care unit, had to argue his way in to see him. Life-sustaining machinery filled the alcove around the bed in the shape of a horseshoe. Riley's body had been moved from a temporary inflated enclosure to something less invasive, but still solid enough to hold his tissues together and supported while they were pumped with cellular repair components and toxins were filtered away.

He showed no signs of awareness even though the dials looked better than before.

Regrets dragged Kirk to a seat beside the bed. He could barely breathe again. A nurse came and went, ignoring him.

Someone else approached, but didn't leave.

"You didn't bring it back in one piece this time." This was spoken low.

Kirk raised his head. "Overlander."

"There are barely any reports filed," she said. "What the hell happened?"

"Everything."

Her voice lost the soft tone typical of a critical medical unit. "I mean it. What the hell happened?"

Her voice unnerved him, tore apart the little faith in himself he'd pulled together.

"You always this useless, Kirk?" she asked.

Kirk lifted his head. Feeling his hands trembling on his face wasn't helping. "Not usually."

"What happened? You haven't filed a report or I'd read it and leave you alone."

"No. I haven't. I probably should." He swallowed hard. His throat had closed up. 

"Something hulled my ship," she said. "And my first officer."

Kirk resisted laughing. It wasn't any more hers than it was his. "The Potemkin fired on her. One fully loaded torpedo was all it took. She was too close to evade it." He remembered longing to scream at Ranger to take evasive. Remembered watching the torpedo catching up, exploding just at it struck the shield, perfectly timed. 

"Kirk? James?"

"I'm here."

She huffed. "You weren't even on board. Have I got that right? I've got bits and pieces from the crew I could find. No one from Fleet is talking."

"You saw the all receiver alert."

"Everyone did."

"Garrovick went rogue. Was going to attack Vulcan."

"Well, that's dandy. And why was Ranger there?"

Kirk frowned. "Sorry. Riley was drawn in to assist with the attack by Garrovick. Until I convinced him otherwise."

"And you were where?"

"On a private vessel, intercepting." He pulled at his hair, then smoothed it back. "It's a mess."

"You ordered the Ranger to take on the Potemkin?"

The derision sliced through Kirk. It made him feel terribly alone, on top of miserable.

"Why don't you wait and read the report," Kirk said. 

"Because 'Fleet is burying it already. Calling it a drill gone bad."

"Coyran say that?"

"No, Admiral Argot said that on the feeds. Suggested it, might be the better term. There hasn't been an official announcement."

"It wasn't a drill. But you figured that out already." Kirk sat back, arms limp. "Learning a ship the size of the Potemkin can be sent to attack a core planet isn't going to make any Federation citizen feel good. They are sowing doubt about the real story."

"Someone going to tell the real story?" She crossed her arms, shifted her tall boots.

"It sows a different kind of dangerous doubt. So probably not. Not in whole."

"I talked to Rand. She wasn't much help casting light on things."

Kirk straightened with a jolt of his wounded emotions. "I haven't seen her. She okay?"

"She wasn't on board. She and Glissen had gone to look for you. Ranger departed without them."

Kirk rubbed his chin, nodded. "Rand would have gotten in the way of Riley taking off without direct orders."

"Where were you?" She sounded both worried and calculating.

"I'd been abducted."

She made a doubtful face. "By whom?"

"By someone I know well, as part of a Starfleet Security espionage operation." Kirk felt anger beating down his worn spirit rather than lifting him up as it had been. "I haven't reported to them either. Although I took part without any pre-briefing and don't really feel the need as a result. But the point was to stop all this from happening in the first place." He reached out and touched the bed beside Riley.

Overlander stepped closer. "What happened to Riley? Was he in engineering? The bridge is still fully intact."

"No. He must have rushed down there."

"That wasn't smart."

"I don't think he was trying to be smart and I worry what his intent was. I think he knew he'd messed up irrevocably. He wanted so badly to be the hero and that had become impossible."

"Well, hell." She dropped her arms and moved skillfully between the equipment arms to tower close over Riley's lax form. 

"I want to be here when he wakes up," Kirk said. His hands were cold, and had stopped quivering because his muscles were exhausted.

Overlander turned to Kirk with a wry smile of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I'm giving you hell when you appear to already be in it."

"It's okay. The crew is all that matters. Take everything out on me that you need to. Don't take it out on Riley."

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock sat before the window on the surgery area. Sarek was laid out upon a bare table with a mind Healer lightly holding his temples. A surgeon worked from the side assisted by a delicate robot arm. Despite all the gadgetry and skill, blood was smeared on the gray cloth, on the shiny machinery tools.

Sten entered the narrow dark room. He hobbled even more than he had been previously. Spock wondered if he'd been injured or simply was too distracted to hide an existing debilitation. 

Amanda followed Sten, hands clasped before herself. "Spock," she said with poise.

"Mother."

She stared through the glass, sighed. "Sten tells me you are responsible for this."

"I think father's condition is responsible for this. I simply thought it best that he cease delaying treatment." Spock breathed in, held it. "I was not aware of the issue. Although I should have suspected when he parked directly on the temple plaza to avoid the steps when he took me to High Priest Zienn."

She looked away. "It was his choice to keep forgoing putting himself in others' hands. I cannot overrule him." She lifted her head to Spock. "I am surprised you managed."

Spock didn't want to concern her with his state of mind. "I decided the repercussions for me were acceptable. From there it was logical." 

There were stools along the window. She pulled one closer and sat upon it. Sten remained by the door. 

"How long will it be?" she asked. Her poise was weakening already.

"Another three quarters of an hour, according to the estimate I was given."

She looked down at her hands. Spock reached out and took the closer one over to his own lap by the wrist and held it loosely. She stiffened but didn't withdraw which Spock was certain she would do if Sarek were present and aware. Sten turned to them, then returned his gaze to the floor, shifted his feet.

"I have a great number of questions, Spock," his mother said after many minutes. "But I should wait for your father to answer them."

"It is your choice, Mother."

She moved her hand, took hold of his wrist instead. "I don't want to cause you additional trouble."

Spock didn't want to state that nothing mattered, since that would concern her. He nodded instead.


	2. Eval, Part 1

Kirk had found an empty bed to sleep on, and was roused by a nurse who must be nearing retirement. Her voice was hoarse and unforgiving. "You're Lt. Commander James T Kirk?"

Kirk cracked his eyes open all the way, unclenched his arms which were crossed over his abdomen. He'd tried to sleep in a ball, despite the narrow bed.

"Yes."

"You're ordered to report to HQ. Stat."

"That doesn't surprise me." Kirk rolled to put his feet on the floor and stumbled to the bathroom to clean up.

They hadn't sent an escort, which seemed like an oversight, but they certainly would send one if he didn't show. Maybe this was a test. Maybe it was to avoid the show of the escort to the press. Kirk found an aircar, tried to enjoy the minutes of quiet.

The thick flooring deadened Kirk's footsteps as he crossed into Admiral Coyran's office. The distinctive muted thudding reminded him of every other visit. The others in the outer office glanced his way then back to their work. He must look passable today, or so far gone as to not be safe interfering with.

"Kirk." Admiral Coyran was standing before his desk when Kirk was shown in.

"Sir."

Coyran held a stylus, rolled it around on his fingertips before turning to set it down. "Bit of a mess, all around."

"You probably need a report from me, sir."

"In time. I'm not missing much information at this point. But given events . . ." He looked straight at Kirk as if to assess his attention. "We have to pull your commission. Until, that is, we can convene a panel to figure out how to address your situation."

The words penetrated Kirk's brain by worming their way in. He refused to tremble.

Coyran lowered his head to get in Kirk's field of view. "What would you do in my place? Knowing what you know about that Vulcan and his victims?"

"The same."

Coyran glanced up and down Kirk. "Try to get out of uniform by noon. I'll let you decide when we call a panel. When you're good and ready. All right? Don't leave earth in the meantime."

Kirk pulled his uniform shirt over his head. His bare skin felt as vulnerable as his spirit did. The match was reassuring. He tossed the shirt over the back of the visitor's chair nearby.

"That works too," Coyran said. "Medical says you are refusing treatment."

Kirk tried to keep the barrenness out of his voice to sound factual. "There's nothing they can do for me."

"That's not promising." Coyran hit a switch. 

The door opened behind Kirk and someone in administrative yellows stepped in. Kirk looked up to find Lt. Ducal there, looking between him and the admiral.

"Lieutenant, take Kirk down to Med Psych. Have them run an A-3. If he fails it, make sure they hold him."

Kirk looked up with sharpened attitude. 

Coyran said, "Again. What would you do, Kirk?"

"Probably the same." Although he didn't know what an A-3 was.

"Get him some civvies before you go out," Coyran said to Ducal. 

"Yes, sir." Ducal held up an arm to direct Kirk out.

"Oh and Kirk," Coyran said before they reached the door. "Fine work protecting Vulcan."

Kirk found a hard center within his trembling to balance some attitude on. "I didn't do it for any admiral's approval, sir."

"I know you didn't."

"You want me to wait for him to be finished, sir? Or return in the interim," Ducal asked.

Coyran's hard attitude returned. "Wait for him. I don't want him slipping through the cracks again."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk turned at the door. He wanted to have faith in Coyran. His instincts told him the admiral was being tough by necessity, but fear kept getting in the way of trust.

Ducal said, "Kirk," like he had other places to be. Kirk followed him out. 

The receptionist glanced up at Kirk's bare chest. Ducal told him to wait and fetched a gray t-shirt from somewhere. It smelled like soap and the inside of a locker. Kirk slipped it on and thanked him.

Outside, Ducal said, "It's more than six blocks to Psych. Let's take a groundcab."

Kirk got in beside him and the cab waited in a line to exit the pull-in area. 

"Where's your security detail?" Kirk asked. He asked for the wrong reasons, to poke at Ducal.

"They assured me I don't need it any longer."

"Well, with Sybok dead, that makes sense."

Ducal's head snapped Kirk's way.

Kirk laughed. "You aren't in the know anymore, are you? Must be boring, your job now." Kirk wanted to stop himself. He was lashing out. "You don't even know how I know that."

"You know what an A-3 is?"

"No." Kirk again didn't ask. He swallowed hard instead.

"I should have grabbed a security detail given that order. I've been relishing not having one and resisted."

"Do I look dangerous?"

"No. And I'm a triple black belt."

"You seem like the type to be."

The car inched forward. Ducal put his left knee up against the door, sat back. "Maybe we should have walked."

"Sorry," Kirk said. "Last few days have been a little rough, but that's a terrible excuse."

Ducal turned sharply again. "You apologizing?"

"Yes."

"I wouldn't."

Kirk said, "I see what you were doing before. They gave you a big job because you were too lowly to be dangerous yourself. You learned too much under Howard, so when Pritchard needed a babysitter after his treatments, they gave you that job. And as needed you were probably running communications, personally, to avoid the computers."

Ducal studied Kirk in silence for many seconds. He turned forward with no expression. 

Kirk kindly said, "I didn't need much to put that together. I also realize now that the Colonist infiltrators must have been in the computer core. That's how they put in unsigned orders. That's how they released a new version of the virus. I hope they've all been rooted out." He paused, fear-driven mind still churning. "That's how they framed Coyran. Or I hope they did. Someone at the top has to be honest after all of this."

"Who the hell are you?" Ducal asked. 

The car pulled out onto the main road. Ducal commanded the automatic pilot to stop again at the next pull in. The car followed another into a pull off, rocked to a stop. 

Kirk said, "I'm former Lt. Commander Kirk. But I see in you, and I did before, lots to respect. Duty no matter the cost." Kirk turned in his seat towards Ducal. "I'll do you a favor. What'd they tell you about Sybok? Seems like they kept you in the dark about some things."

"They told me absolutely no Vulcans in Pritchard's office, even the embassy staff. Actually, some warnings specifically ordered me to avoid the embassy staff since they were supposedly family of his. Then you waltzed in with the Ambassador."

Kirk smiled. "Yes. I was trying to see if Pritchard was compromised. Thought that would trigger him. Didn't realize he was already treated, desensitized if you will."

"How'd you find that out?"

"That I'm not saying. I will tell you a few things. I know Sybok is dead because I killed him. He wasn't just family, he was the Ambassador's son, and my lover's brother."

"Well, no wonder you know what's going on."

Kirk rubbed his neck. "You should tell the car to go on. The next to last thing Sybok did was to fuck my head up. That's why Coyran is incapable of trusting me. But Sybok didn't mess with me to make him obey him as Coyran is probably worried he did. He just did it to destroy me in the most miserable way possible because he enjoyed exploiting human weakness." 

Ducal instructed the car to pull out again. It seemed to sense his alarm because it surged out into heavy traffic with little margin for error.

"Since you know everything. What's happening now?" Ducal asked.

"Hearings on Garrovick, I assume. Some cover story for the whole mess, or perhaps the real story but as one of many possible stories so everyone can pick the one they're comfortable hearing. I don't really know. I have a crew to take care of. I need to be there when my first regains consciousness. Or my former first, I guess. That might be today." The weight of Kirk's situation made it hard to breathe. He had no future that he could recognize beyond his crew's needs. And they weren't even his crew anymore.

The groundcab pulled in at a low square building with an arc cut out of it facing a plaza. 

Ducal pushed open the door faster than it was opening automatically. "Did you really save Vulcan like the admiral said? I do know about the Potemkin and how she was commandeered by her captain."

"I don't know." Kirk swung out of the car. "People keep telling me I did something. But I'd credit Commander Graham if I were handing out medals."

They walked across a circular, tiered plaza toward Med Psych. The weather was nice, and it was crowded with Starfleet office and medical workers sitting on the steps between the fountains.

Ducal said, "How'd you know about the virus?"

Kirk grinned. "Starfleet thought I wrote it. And I had my own reasons to not dissuade them from that misconception."

They checked in, were told that Kirk's case had been routed to psych staff from Intel and to go down to floor B17.

"Lt. Ducal," Kirk said as the elevator sank. "Do me a favor. If an asshole named Oplack is assigned to me, please insist on someone else, with the force of being the Admiral's staff behind it."

"Odds are it won't be."

"He's wired into the computer directly, probably already knows I'm here."

"My advice is tone down the conspiracy thinking while you're in this particular department."

The lift doors opened. Kirk's guts jumped in innate fear of stepping out. "You haven't met him."

A petite man with tightly curled hair short hair, warm skin and dark eyes by the name of Loomis came out to collect Kirk.

"You may be waiting a while," he warned Ducal.

"Those are my orders."

"As you were, then."

Ducal said, "It's just you doing the . . . session, right?"

"Yes, just me. Why?"

"I promised Kirk he wouldn't have to see someone name Oplack and thought I'd verify."

"Oh. Right. No." Loomis glanced at Kirk, gave a wry frown. "Perfectly understandable concern."

Kirk followed down a narrow grid of corridors, feeling chilled and shaking, and undermined by being unable to will it away. In a generously sized room with no personal touches, he was told to sit back in a recliner. It was too comfortable. It made his body give in. Patches were applied to his chest. He was handed a headband to slip on, which he did. It was rubberized and it grabbed at his forehead. He shifted it up to his hairline so it wouldn't bother him. He was also handed a wrist strap with attached caps for his thumb and index finger. Kirk arranged these with great care, stalling, but also wanting to get this over with. Failure loomed. The sterile room and air promised no mercy.

"I only got your files a few minutes ago." Loomis pulled a tilted slate screen on an articulated arm closer to his waist. "Usually I spend half a day putting a case together." He crossed his lean legs. His uniform was thick and stretchy and fit tighter than someone on a ship would wear it.

"So you aren't jacked in directly?" Kirk asked.

"No. Most of Intel isn't. Oplack is a bit. Different." He scrolled the screen with a piano playing motion. "Might be faster getting data directly, but it seems like it'd be distracting." He sat back a bit. "So, James Kirk of Riverside, Iowa. Formerly lieutenant commander." He read silently for half a minute. "They didn't waste any paperwork pulling your commission. It's just signed by a few high ups with no review from anyone in medical."

Kirk sank again into the darkness of a future he couldn't see anything of. Maybe he should embrace it instead. One never knew. 

Silence stretched out a long time. Kirk imagined a lot of physical data was speaking for him.

"I take it you're not pleased about that," Loomis said.

"Starfleet is the only place I've ever wanted to be."

"Even though it took your father?"

Kirk thought back. "That never mattered."

"Do you know why you are here in this building right now?"

"Yes." Kirk forced his seemingly strapped-tight chest to inhale. "Because the same Vulcan that made Pritchard and Garrovick and maybe others, like Howard, his slave peeled my head open and made me into this quivering ball of fear that I am now."

There was a long pause.


	3. Eval, Part 2

Kirk said, "Does that clarify for you why Intel is running this? Whatever this is. Interview? Evaluation?"

"Call it an evaluation," Loomis's voice took on the practiced neutral quality Kirk had expected from the beginning.

Kirk felt a pit open up inside him, faced it down by saying. "If I fail it, you're supposed to hold me."

"I have that note here in front of me."

Kirk felt better for taking the lead. "Is there Intel hiding in every department of Starfleet?"

"Not hiding really. Someone has to handle sensitive things and there's a lot of that. Everything from ancient alien technology we don't want in the wrong hands to what some vice admiral could be blackmailed for."

"Where have you been during all of this then?"

"Believe it or not, we do things usually only when we're ordered to, just like you do. We do collect anomalies and try to be an early warning system of organizational failure. But we don't have any more political power than anyone else to change our own orders. Less in many cases because even the appearance of our involvement sends everything off the rails if there's no reason for our help. We do get to a lot of quiet cleanup jobs. Like this one."

"Command doesn't want anyone to know what happened. It decreases confidence," Kirk said. He'd held Loomis's gaze until then, but now he looked away.

"I assume that's someone else's opinion, not yours."

"It is, but I can see it. As a commander, I never let on that I'm uncertain, or weak. It's disastrous. But I don't like it when it's Command. Everything being hidden can't be good. We don't root out problems that way. The confidence issue . . . I don't know how to solve that."

Loomis made changes on his slate. "You sound put together, but your amygdalae and hypothalamus are lit up, hyperactive. Have been since you arrived."

"Thanks."

"I didn't hear any sarcasm."

Kirk twitched one side of his mouth upward. "I wasn't. I appreciate you being open. I can't exactly lie and say I feel normal."

"You refused treatment claiming the med staff couldn't help you. I assume a Vulcan Healer is what you need, no?"

Kirk's body quivered in a cascade from his upper arms to his thighs. He could barely perceive the room around him, breathed in because he had to.

"Right," Loomis said. "You don't like that idea."

Kirk was more than a minute recovering his voice. "Ambassador Sarek did help. But I had to be paralyzed to allow him try. And he was too weak. He was killing himself with the effort."

"I don't have that in your record." He tapped something out as if typing.

"I'd be helpless jelly right now otherwise. He's married to a human. He's familiar with the human mind." Kirk rubbed his fingers together, kept the capped ones straight and out of the way. "When he's recovered from heart surgery, I expect he'll be willing to help again. I think I'll be able to tolerate that without breaking down completely."

"We have a few Vulcan Healers we contract out to. Who specialize in working with humans."

Kirk's heart throbbed. "No. You have no idea what you're suggesting."

"We have other things we need to go over in that case." Loomis sounded as if he were trying to avoid using a judgmental tone. "You seem from your records like a solid fleet officer with a lot of evidence of self-sacrifice. None of your responses indicate you're anything but badly injured. So I'm going to level with you so we can get through this as smoothly as possible. Do you know what an A-3 is?"

Kirk shook his head.

"It's an evaluation that assumes the target is a danger to others and the goal is to determine what is the extent of the danger and how immediate. It does not take into consideration the harm that might be caused by finding out those things. It's not something I'd ever recommend putting a traumatized person through."

Kirk found breathing hard again. "Does Coyran know that?"

"I don't know. I'd tend to assume yes. Why do you ask?"

"I want to respect him. He's not making it easy."

Loomis shifted the slate away, clasped his hands at his knees. "So if you can be absolutely forthright with me, we can get through this without any harm to you. Right?"

Kirk shrugged. He wanted to curl up, shifted on the recliner instead, tried to relax in defiance of his body's reactions.

"Let's try it. Who are you most angry with right now?" Loomis asked.

Kirk tilted his head back, glad to be distracted. "I'm still angry with Oplack."

"If he were here what would you do?"

"I'd be wanting to punch his lights out."

"Why?"

"He tortured my friend."

Loomis turned to his slate. "I don't have the detailed records. I assume you refer to the Ambassador's son who came in for a clearance?"

"He used him as an experimental subject for the Swarm. Because he's a hybrid. Thought he could learn how to use it on pure Vulcans that way. He had no idea whether he was harming Spock."

Loomis leaned over the slate, then resumed his therapist posture. "Spock consented."

"He was blackmailed. Oplack was going to keep him out of the Academy unless he cooperated. He had him under the Swarm for hours. Spock was exhausted." Kirk felt the anger forming a wall against the fear. "So yes, I'd like to punch him."

"But that's it?"

Kirk shrugged. "Yes."

Loomis checked the slate. Kirk assumed he knew he was telling the truth.

"Who are you next most upset with?"

"Commander Jumpero on the Potemkin, who destroyed my ship, which was just trying to stop them from committing mass murder. Asshole tried to defend his actions."

"And if you saw him again?"

"I'd glower at him. I expect 'Fleet is going to put him through the bureaucratic wringer. I expect to enjoy watching that."

"How do you feel about Admiral Coyran?"

Kirk felt a wash of something painful. Loomis looked up from the slate, waited.

Loomis said, "Describe what you see in your mind when that name comes up."

"He wears his uniform well." Kirk shook his head. "It's straight on him, barely seems to touch him. I don't know why that's what I think of."

"Anyone else wear their uniform that well?"

Kirk thought that over. Uniforms weren't cut that way by and large anymore. He shook his head.

"When's the last time Coyran told you he was pleased with you?"

"On the way out of his office just now. He said 'fine work saving Vulcan.'"

"And your response?"

"I told him I didn't do it for his approval. Or I said, 'any admiral's approval'."

"Any idea why you said that?"

Kirk turned to Loomis, tried to study him for clues, but found concentrating on that too hard to maintain. "You trying to get at that he's some kind of father figure?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

Kirk laughed harshly through his nose. "Does it matter if he is? Maybe I just need to have faith in someone, anyone, at the top of Starfleet Command. I've been on ships attacked because of bad orders sent directly from command. If command is corrupt, we're done as an organization."

"What's the solution to that?"

Kirk laid his head back. The room seemed fuzzy, but it was all one dull color and couldn't really be fuzzy. "Hm. I suppose I shouldn't mouth off if I don't have one. All I know is things can go bad, fast, if someone abuses a high position with enough force of personality."

"I see Tarsus on your record. Needless to say."

"I can't fully trust anyone above me in the chain. Clear why that is."

"Seems problematic as part of an organization."

"All those medals. Most of them from ignoring what I was told."

"You've been rewarded for this behavior. Is that the implication of your statement?"

"I'm alive because of it."

Loomis adjusted his posture to one more conversational. "Let's try a game. Turns out you wake up tomorrow and you know that Admiral Coyran is . . . fill that in. "

"Corrupt?"

"Okay, corrupt. What would you do?"

"Go to the press, I suppose. Try to get in his face and yell at him." Kirk sighed, felt sad rather than scared. It was an improvement. "He did promise there wouldn't be any more bad orders from command or I could rightly yell at him. I'd make myself a nuisance until someone noticed."

Loomis looked over the slate for a while. Kirk relaxed his neck again at the risk of growing weaker. The chair was letting him sink in deeper, cradling him more as it conformed.

"This rogue Vulcan attacked you with his mind. Recount that for me."

Kirk raised a brow. "This is the easy version of the A-3?" He tried not to smile at his predicament. "It was like getting hit by an ocean wave. Not only fills your lungs while knocking your midsection in, it also carries away your feet and the sand beneath your feet. You get lifted up and know the landing is going to hurt when it not only drops you but crashes down with you." Kirk raised the thumb on his alternate hand to chew on. The sensor cap was in the way on his usual hand.

"He opened me up like a flower blooming, or more like a spoor pod on Caprius III. I couldn't tell the difference between my mind and my body, between normal and agony. He snatched straight in and grabbed hold of one thing, then another, in rapid succession. It was like nothing I've ever experienced. I was screaming. I remember that. Then there was nothing but fear and I was inside out, and I stayed inside out. No defenses at all. And then I was left to suffer."

"You killed this rogue Vulcan, report says with a blade. Recount that for me."

Kirk stared through the far wall. The memories were in jumbled pieces. "I was in shock, trying to find a safe haven in my head, trying to get control of my limbs. And Spock was screaming. Sybok had him by the head, was doing the same thing to him he'd done to me, I assumed. I was struggling to get up, reached for my weapon. I would normally have a phaser on my belt, but I found a blade there. I didn't think much about it other than to put it to use."

Kirk studied the thumb he'd been chewing. "You know, I often say I'd rather have my enemy where I can put a knife in him. But I don't know now." He lifted his other hand beside the first. "You get a lot of blood on you. It's not a baptism. It's like Macbeth. It doesn't seem to come off again. The convenient lie of killing at a distance. Maybe there's something to that after all."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Kirk lowered his hands, tried to relax. "It was something I had to do. I suppose I was relieved. Very relieved even. Satisfied to have some control after all the pain. I don't think I'd say enjoy. The thought of even facing him again makes me feel ill. The sight of his body later sent me into a panic."

Loomis worked at the slate a while, scratched his temple.

"Let's say you just faced a review panel and you have been given a lifetime ban from Starfleet. What are you feeling and thinking?"

"I've been thinking about that. I don't know. I suppose I could pilot for someone else. Wouldn't be the same, unless maybe they have some kind of research mission. I honestly don't like thinking about it."

"I don't expect you to like it, but do so anyway. Do you think life would be worth living?"

Sadness was smothering Kirk in place of the fear. "It is. It has to be. But everything is in question right now. I don't even know if I have a lover anymore."

"Why not?"

"He betrayed me. He made me a mindless tool of violence. I haven't had a chance to figure out if I can get past that."

"Do you still care about him?"

"I can't do otherwise. I just wish it wasn't like this. I often think that with him: if only everything could be different."

"Have you thought about killing yourself?"

Kirk lifted his head. "No."

Loomis looked at the slate.

Kirk looked around the bare walls, the sparse room. "I was willing to die to protect Vulcan. But I didn't have to put that much on the line. Commander Graham put herself in that position for me, had the Ranger fire on the access area she was in. I would have switched with her if I could have. When needed, I'm willing to lose it all. It's the secret to my success. Does that mean I contemplate killing myself regularly? I don't know. Maybe you know." Kirk rubbed his face. "I feel odd. Did you drug me?"

"Just a little."

"I feel better. Depressed instead of panicked. Can I get some to go?"

"Sorry no. It's our favorite secret recipe. It doesn't leave the facility even in someone's bloodstream. To answer your question, and looking over your record, I'd say you have a somewhat unhealthy willingness to sacrifice yourself. Usually a sign of trying to go back and win an unwinnable battle from the past."

"I get away with, though."

"You do. Maybe you keep taking your enemy by surprise."

"Big advantage there."

Another pause. "So, let's say I release you. Where do you go?"

"I go to Medical Four. I need to be there when my former first wakes up. The more I think about it, the more certain I am he wasn't trying to be the hero going below decks to the damaged areas that were decompressing. I think he was trying to kill himself."

"You feel responsible for that. I see it on the monitor."

"I had him under my command for half a year. I could have straightened him out a bit. I didn't."

"You don't think he's responsible for himself?"

Kirk lifted his head again. "You really in Starfleet?"

"I am. It's a sort of joint posting, though. Federation Council is my other overseer if you go far enough up the chain."

"Yes. He's my responsibility. Including his personal development, which I let stay arrested. I let him stay naive and worshipful because I personally needed him that way. And it was easier."

Loomis pushed the slate aside, angled it up like a monitor. "Rest for a bit while the drugs are neutralized." Loomis clicked his fingernail over his finger tip as he waited. "How are you feeling?"

Kirk felt almost okay, if he didn't let himself care about anything. "I think I'm still drugged."

"I meant otherwise. You need treatment. The fear center of your brain is far too involved in everything you are experiencing. There might be a surgery option."

"Then I'd surely be done as far as Starfleet goes."

"You assume there's a chance."

Kirk sat up a bit, put an elbow under himself. "There's always a chance. That's the other secret."

Loomis's mouth twitched into a quick smile. "Imagine ten year old you. Back in Iowa. Got it? Hold that. Now imagine you are looking at yourself now. What do you think?"

"He needs to slow down. Just a little. Not too much. He's about to lose a lot from taking his eyes off what's important."

"That seems like good advice."

Kirk pushed to sit all the way forward. He was quivering again and trying to crawl out of himself. "The drug is going away and the terror is back."

"You should check yourself in somewhere. For instance, the third floor of this building."

"I have a crew to take care of. And you're manipulative as hell. But you made it as painless as possible." Kirk slowly straightened and looked straight at Loomis.

Loomis stood up. He looked annoyed. "Give me the patches and the bands."

Kirk pulled the patches out from under his borrowed shirt. "Funny thing about fear. You see things clearer and remember everything. You see through the niceties. Please don't think I hold it against you. It's a classic interrogation technique. The best one there is. Rescue the target from a worse situation that you make clear to them is much worse, treat them as special, make them your friend. They tell you anything."

"Here I thought you were just being you."

Kirk handed over the rest of the things. "I was. I have nothing to hide." Kirk's body felt keyed up again and he had to make deliberate movements to get everything right.

"And I have no one else to talk to," Kirk said after a beat.

Kirk stopped at the door to the room and waited for Loomis to use his ID on the locked door. Loomis looked over Kirk's face, shifted the things he held in one hand to the other. "Kirk." He looked at the floor, looked up again. "Make an appointment for a few days from now. Or sooner if you want. I can see if I can help you. I am actually a qualified therapist. Probably doesn't seem like it. But I am. You aren't going to get through this alone."

When Kirk didn't reply, Loomis held up his unladen hand. "No Intel intent behind this."

"I'll see. When I'm around my crew I do a lot better. I do appreciate the sentiment behind the offer. "

Loomis reached out and keyed the door open. "You had therapy once before, when you were fifteen. How'd that go?"

"I hated it. And my mother for insisting on it for an entire year. We haven't spoken much since." Kirk stepped out ahead rather than waiting to be escorted.

* * *

A/N: felt badly for that chapter 2 cut off, so rushed the next chapter.


	4. Inner Battle

The courtyard was shaded by hand-woven fibrous nets that was sucked up convex by the wind before dropping concave again. The specks of sunlight filtering through created overlapping regular patterns on the sparkling clean stone pavers. Sarek had requested to be taken outside to recuperate. The area was public, but no one else was outside.

Spock sat considering the shape of the building around them. He was pleased to have stone pavers beneath his feet, a hefty bulk of stone beneath his hands, which were propped on the bench on either side of him. Stone was indeed an effective stabilizer for the mind. Even for a mind that had lost its grip on the reality that contained said stone.

Amanda sat with some needle and bead work in her lap. It was a robe collar drape, but not with lettering, with a pattern found in ancient ruins. Spock had suspected his father's request to be taken outside was for the benefit of his mother, but Sarek sat back with his eyes closed. Spock looked away, lest his father detect his attention and be disturbed.

"Spock."

Spock looked up. 

"You have contacted Starfleet Security?"

"Husband," Amanda said. "Allow your son a whole day of peace, please."

"We have responsibilities, my wife. If we are at all capable of attending to them, we must do so."

"My responsibility is to you, Father," Spock said serenely.

Sarek seemed to accept this after much consideration and perhaps a touch of surprise.

Amanda returned to her needlework, and Spock glanced meaningfully in her direction.

Sarek nodded. "When we return inside, at least contact them with your status."

A concrete task was a welcome thing. "I will do so, Father."

\-------- 8888 -------

Kirk returned to Medical Four. He made his way to Full Support and the curtain-encircled horseshoe of equipment that was Riley's room.

Overlander looked up from the seat beside the bed. "He's gradually coming to. The doctors were just here. Said it's a good sign that he's on schedule post-completion of cellular flushing. One of Riley's sisters is around, too. Gabriel. She should be back soon."

Overlander stood to make space. Despite the death grip fear had on the center of Kirk's chest, he stepped up beside the bed. Something about the shape of Riley's face indicated awareness, a tension in the muscles.

Kirk put a hand on Riley's shoulder. "Riley?"

Riley's eyes cracked open. 

"How're you doing?" Kirk asked.

Riley's eyes's shifted along under his lashes. He didn't react to seeing Overlander there, seemed to sink farther away into his thoughts instead.

Overlander said, "Gabriel's here. She'll be right back."

Kirk sat down beside the bed, scooted the chair closer and put a hand on Riley's sheet-covered arm. 

"Sirs," Riley whispered, looked down, looked around the lumps of his body on the bed as if for something he'd lost. 

No one spoke. The arm under Kirk's hand tensed up. Riley began beating his hand on the bed under the sheet.

Kirk checked if there were lines running down that arm. There were three. Kirk pulled back the sheet and held Riley's arm still. "Careful there."

Overlander stepped out of the curtain, looked around, stepped back in.

"Lieutenant," Kirk said. "It's okay. You have one duty right now and that's to get better."

Riley snorted through his nose. "Why?"

Kirk put on a gentle tone. Put on the face of the man he expected Riley needed. "You're questioning your orders?"

Riley looked down Kirk's front, at his gray shirt.

"You aren't in uniform."

Kirk smiled. "The press are less of an issue when I dress like this."

"Oh. Yeah. I imagine."

Overlander gave Kirk a doubtful expression. She stepped up beside Kirk. "You need anything, Riley? Anything at all?"

"No, ma'am." Riley freed his other hand, pulled it out and examined it. He swallowed audibly, twice. His expression began pinching in, eyes growing red. "Can you both leave me alone?"

Kirk said, "No."

Riley turned his head away, breathed in deeply. "I thought I was doing what I was supposed to do. I made a mistake." His voice was breaking. "How many under me died for my mistake?"

Kirk leaned closer. He could only speak in a whisper, sucked in by those moments, the soundless blast that only flashed on his eyelids because he'd been too scared to keep them open. "It's not that simple. Trust me, okay? Right now, you need to get better."

Riley's voice took on a whiny edge. "Everyone wants me to trust them."

Kirk sat back. "That is a problem, knowing whom to trust. I know it well. But we know each other, don't we?"

Riley's reddened gaze found its way back to Kirk. "I'm sorry, sir. What I did was unforgivable. I took the ship."

"I forgive you, Riley. You need to forgive yourself. Look forward."

"I can't. I'm an idiot. I'll always be an idiot."

"Not if you learn from this."

Overlander wanted a turn beside the bed. Kirk stood and shuffled out of the way to stand at the end of the bed.

The curtain parted and a short woman with a head of auburn hair stepped in. "You Kirk?"

Kirk nodded. Her face scowled. Her chin vibrated in anger. Kirk stepped back through the gap in the curtain, held it open.

"I'll go." He almost said he was going to go check on the others, but didn't want to remind Riley that there were other injured.

Overlander acknowledged his departure with a nod. Narrowed her eyes to study him. Kirk let the curtain fall back into place.

There were only three other crew still under medical care. Each time he stepped into a room, Kirk found an old version of himself to pull over his demeanor. Mouse had been released, had gone home to Australia. He let himself admit he missed seeing her more than the others who were now scattered far and wide, to homes or local rehab. He missed her quiet acceptance of everything.

By the time Kirk stepped out of the third room, he was shaking. He had intended to see Riley again, but didn't want Overlander to see him like this. 

He found a rest room and locked himself in, sat on the closed toilet until his hands were steady. He longed to curl up in the corner of the floor and rest for a while, savor the punishment of the hard floor, but he stood and went out instead, barely aware of his actions. 

He needed to rest, somewhere other than an empty hospital gurney. He took a groundcab to the Starfleet dormitory, found himself locked out of his previous room. This had happened to a friend once before, so it only caused Kirk a few seconds of distress. He took the lift to the basement, found the locker where his belongings had been loaded out of the room. His brand new blue and white duffle was there, carefully packed just as it had been.

Kirk knelt before the locker, bent his head to rest it on the grate of the locker door below, dizzy with everything that had happened since he'd packed that bag, and terrified of facing the next hour of his life, let alone the next day, or week. With a spark of anger at himself, he pushed straight and hauled the bag out. It was lighter than expected, and he stood holding it rather than dropping it. With careful motions, he placed it on the floor, patted it down, and stretched out to use it as a pillow. At least on the floor he could curl up as tightly as he longed to.

\-------- 8888 -------

Kirk awoke into dim light with pinpricks staring down at him. He peered up at the low energy light emitters in the unfinished ceiling above him until things made sense. He was at the dormitory. In the basement. He sat up, ignoring the sore spots on his body from the thinly carpeted floor.

No one had bothered him. He hadn't expected anyone to. Most who came through here had slept rough often enough to figure Kirk was fine where he was. He changed clothes into his only other set of civvies, a similar gray shirt and old black workout pants, and shoved the duffle back in the locker and sealed it with his handprint.

It was early, still night, so Kirk was alone up in the dormitory lobby. The street lights outside provided almost as much light as the lights glowing from inside the waiting lifts. There were five public terminal screens also glowing, each in an alcove. Kirk logged into one, found a message from Spock saying his father was doing fine and was urging him to return and report to Starfleet.

"That's a switch," Kirk said aloud.

Imagining facing Spock in his current state made Kirk's chest twist in a knot. Like his crew, Spock looked up to him, expected the world of him.

Like his former crew. 

Kirk chewed the side of his thumb and replied to the message in voice-to-text so Spock wouldn't hear how he sounded. He was relieved and pleased that Sarek was doing well. He credited Spock for that, praised him for navigating something so fraught. Kirk stared at the text on the screen, bent his head. Spock wasn't experienced enough to help Kirk cope, but he missed him terribly anyway. Forced steady again, Kirk explained that he'd been to see Coyran and had to stay on earth pending a review panel before he'd be allowed on a ship again. That was hedging, pretending to be hopeful, but he dreaded the idea that Spock might come to him when he was needed elsewhere.

Kirk found breakfast on the long walk to Medical Four. The scent of bacon did more for him than the coffee, which like all earth coffee, was of the gods. This particular cup had been softened with steamed milk and a touch of honey. 

People crossed in front of Kirk as he stood outside the take-out window, paper cup cradled before his mouth and nose like a safety breather, sipping repeatedly. They glanced at him with mixed pity and curiosity.

Kirk smiled in their wake. Then worried he really looked that awful. He bought a second cup to savor while walking. 

Kirk's hands began shaking when he arrived at the split in the walkway between the visitor entrance and the staff entrance. He missed Spock terribly, wished he hadn't been such an egotistical idiot and had admitted in his message that he needed him. The idea that he'd have to wait half a day for Spock to arrive, even in his family's ship, made Kirk tremble more. If Sybok had been nearby, Kirk might have begged him to make this terror go away, no matter the cost. His heart raced at the thought, then he felt more depressed that this was not a real option.

There were a lot of pedestrians here, even at the hint of dawn, staff in drab medical wear, walking with purpose. They glanced at him with no judgement and moved on. Kirk breathed in, kept walking. He'd be okay once he was faced with one of his crew. He'd find that strength they needed from him inside himself and manage for another hour or two.

Kirk walked to the wing where Crewmember Jilken had a room. He stopped at the closed door, terrified of stepping inside. He couldn't find any will in himself this morning even to pretend. Just fear. Kirk hadn't consciously backtracked but he found himself back in the main tower of lifts. 

Riley. He had to visit Riley, if no one else. Overlander could see to the others alone.

The bio monitors in Full Support emitted faint noises indicating life was present, but on hold. Kirk lifted the curtain aside and moved through the dim light to sit at Riley's bedside. Riley's scent was familiar, but not reassuring, as if Kirk were an invader in a deeply private place. There was no motion from the bed but Riley did not look relaxed into sleep.

Kirk bent over, put his head in his unsteady hands, grateful for the dim where since no one would see, it didn't count as hopelessness. He pressed his knuckles into his eyes and bent farther over. The vision of the Ranger's primary hull breaking open with the force of a fully-loaded torpedo took over his mind. The screaming terror and panic that must have ensued in the lower compartments followed, muted to silence just as it had been, by the vacuum of space. Like his mind, it had been torn apart, turned inside out, life pulled out of it and left to be dissolved by the brutality of open space.

Kirk curled himself up in the hospital chair, pulled his legs to his chest, explosions of color danced from the pressure of his knuckles on his eyes. His heart throbbed, bouncing against the constriction of his heart sack.

The monitors chirping brought Kirk to awareness. He was sprawled in the chair beside Riley's bed. He bundled himself again into a ball, dreaded the next vision.

"James?" It was Overlander.

"God," Kirk muttered. His gut burned with shame at his state, but it wasn't nearly enough to let him uncurl his body, to pretend.

"James, should I call someone? It IS a hospital."

Overlander's gold braid caught the light from the monitors.

"No. No." Kirk grabbed hold of the sleeve of her uniform. "Please no. I'll be all right." 

He'd made it through Admiral Coyran and Pysch. He could make it through this. Kirk straightened his legs, one at a time, but he could hear himself gulping air, a sound like sobs.

"You. Are. A very long way from all right." Overlander sounded sing song and alarmed.

"I thought . . . I thought I could see the crew, that it'd make me stronger. But it's not working."

She grabbed hold of Kirk's arms, jerked them straight. "Did you take something? Some kind of drug?"

"No. I just need . . . I need to go home for a bit. Take a break." He just needed to will himself to stop fearing, that was all. It should be so easy.

"My place is close by. I can pretend you've had too much, get you out of here."

Kirk rocked forward. Put a hand out on the bed, saw Riley's hand lying there and became startled that Riley had been there all along.

"I don't want anyone to see." But even in his current state, he thought his own words absurd. He had already lost the battle, and the war. Nothing mattered.

"You weren't yourself yesterday either. But you weren't this bad." 

Voices approached from beyond the curtain. Overlander pulled Kirk to his feet with her mechanical arm, held him up easily with it, hooked his arm over her shoulder. 

"Come on, soldier," she said. "Let's get you evaced."

Kirk stumbled through the hospital corridors, looking away, looking down, refusing to address directly any curious gaze. Overlander made humorous asides about his inebriation, made him out as a sympathetic figure there for his crew for many days but finally giving into the solace of alcohol. A total stranger helped hail a groundcab for them.

The world continued in blurry segments. Kirk smelled someone else's home, unusual cooking, cleaning, sweating. He was led stumbling to a bedroom lit only in a square cast by the doorway. Once he felt the buoyant spring of a mattress he gave in and collapsed, bounced, fell limp.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into taking you away from a hospital."

Kirk writhed, turned onto his other side. He wanted to crawl out of his own body, out of the terrors lurking inside himself. "There's nothing they can do. There's nothing Psych can do. I've seen them."

"I can find Chapel. She's on leave."

Kirk snorted, imagined her dry diagnosis of mind rape. "Nothing she can do either."

Overlander went away and returned. She pulled up his shirt. Hot towels descended on his face, on his chest. The animal pleasure of it arrested his panic. The towels were soon changed for freshly hot ones. He made more sounds of pleasure, felt his body release some of the long-straining panic.

Kirk stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, at the trapezoid of light from the doorway. A tear stung a trail out of the corner of his eye. 

Overlander went away again, brought him some kind of herb tea, bitter, almost choking with licorice and other non-food plant flavors. He sipped this, dropped his head back. A minute later he desperately need to be covered. At first the covers were impeded, but the weight lifted off them and he was bundled up. He felt safer wrapped in a bundle so heavy that it nearly suffocated him.

The bed tilted. Kirk had no idea whether he'd slept or not. His mouth was dry and fuzzy. She put a straw between his lips and he sucked up gloriously cold water, then lukewarm bitter tea.

"Whom do I contact, James? Chapel says to take you in, says she can't help you. But I understand why you don't want to go, believe me I do, more than most would. I tried to contact your mother, but she refuses the call. Her neighbor contacted me, said she wouldn't have anything to do with you. "

Kirk found a solid place to speak from. "She's angry I went into space."

"Still?"

Kirk turned his face into the pillow. The tea was making his brain and stomach funny. "I don't know."

"Whom do I contact? Give me a transmitter ID or I call the hospital and have them get you."

Kirk recited the embassy transmitter ID. "Someone will always answer."

"What do I say?"

"Tell them I'm a wreck."

She hurriedly fetched up a communicator and stood at the foot of the bed dialing it in. 

"This is Lt. Commander Natasha Overlander of Starfleet, to whom am I speaking?"

The communicator's speaker sounded small and distant. "I am Skeun of the Vulcan Embassy staff."

Overlander came over beside the bed. Kirk could sense her there, but he wanted the world to just go on without him. She tapped him on the shoulder. He remained still, frozen with despairing hope and mortally wounded pride.

Overlander said, "I need to get a message to someone there. The message is . . . that James Kirk is a wreck."

"Will this source transmitter id continue to reach you?" 

"Yes."

"The message will be passed on."

Overlander signed off and the bed tilted as she sat on it. "I don't know who I just called."

Kirk was shivering despite the blankets choking him. He was on the verge of losing consciousness again, feared it and longed for it in equal amounts.

"I tried," Kirk said, meaning he'd tried to pull himself together, tried to make the attack on the Potemkin work despite the long odds, tried to save everyone except himself.

\-------- 8888 -------

Spock sat on a stone seat along the wall of the hospital room, well out of the way. His father was consulting with the surgeon who had come personally to verify his recovery. The surgeon was an older Vulcan of below average height, shoulder length hair, and considerably lower than average voice volume.

The content of the conversation slipped harmless by Spock. He was sensing the trailing effect of a freed Katra being shepherded away somewhere in the facility. Even Vulcan souls panicked, it seemed. The soul's journey was sometimes long or arduous, but it did not traverse space in any normal sense of it so Spock did not know how he sensed distance, as such, just that he did. 

Spock could feel both sides of reality as both halves of the journey: the high priest, the dead, the odd interior facing landscape of the seam between the realms. Even as Spock stared at the floor of the hospital room, his body was in one place and half his mind in another, but at least he was not slipping farther out of this realm, just getting a clearer understanding of the other one, of both, really.

"Spock," came a sharp voice.

"Father." Spock stood, fully in control. The surgeon had departed at some point. They were alone.

"You were very distant. Again."

Spock relaxed his arms, stood with perfect poise. "It is not harmful."

"I do not like it. You will see a Healer or you will cease this behavior."

"You are not yet deemed of low risk. This is according to your monitor readout's AI assessment of your condition."

Sarek sat straighter. "Then do not go distant."

"I will try to remain present, Father."

"We can arrange a Healer here. There certainly are many available. I can be present with you, if that will help."

Spock felt the first disturbance in his distant calm. "I cannot bear a stranger to touch me."

Sarek frowned, a sure sign that he still was recuperating. "I would try and assist you myself, but I would certainly not be cleared for that."

"I am not in distress." Indeed, this state was fascinating now that he felt somewhat stable in it. "When possible, I will seek out Zienn who stated that he was willing to assist in exactly these circumstances."

"He would indeed be ideal. Perhaps we should send for him. You could meet him at the local temple."

Spock shook his head. "James commanded me to remain with you."

"I am overriding him."

"If I leave, mother will return, and she required a break."

Sgroud came into the room, bowed to Sarek. "There is a message relayed through the earth embassy from a Starfleet Commander by the name of Overlander. She states that, quote, James Kirk is a wreck."

Sarek raised his chin and his brows. "Now. Spock. You have no choice but to go. Sgroud, take Spock to South Kirpraro High Temple and then onto earth. High Priest Zienn stated more than once that he was at our disposal and will accept the intrusion. And he will be properly discreet."

Sarek stared sharply at Spock. "My son. Go."


	5. High Temple

The family ship settled between the sharp peaks of the high southern mountains. Spock had gone numb as they approached, as if the solid world were fainter here. The ship descended onto a broad, shadowed ledge occupied by two other ships. It tapped down onto the landing gear and the engines wound down and the wind took over, whistling around the ship's awkward edges and cowls. Above them a trail scarred the ridge line leading up the mountain. 

"We must climb," Sgroud said, collecting up survival gear kept on hand for Amanda and handing it to Spock, who stared at it, not understanding. 

"You are not well," Sgroud said. "Does your father know this?"

Spock nodded. He'd grown oddly accustomed to feeling half in and half out of the living realm, but this rarified place also apparently straddled multiple realms which meant Spock lost any means to gain a solid footing in reality. He began to fear again that he might slip entirely out of the living without warning.

"Perhaps I should go and fetch this priest for you," Sgroud said.

"I need to go," Spock said. This place was like no other. A place right here on Vulcan that he must explore. Here the whole time.

"You will slow me down. I climb mountains like this, but without the stairs this one has. Or somewhat has. I'm sure they don't repair them because it would encourage visitors."

Spock slipped the survival pack around himself and put his robe back on, pulled the hood up to shield his head from the sun. "We will both go. I will not slow you down excessively. I must do this for reasons I cannot compose into argument."

Sgroud's arms fell lax at his sides. "Well, as your family's servant, words like that leave me no room to counter argue."

They stepped out into the shadowy glare. The chiseled steps began at the edge of the small plateau and rose rapidly, narrowed, grew sparser. The trail led up the ridge line, then in the haze, crossed the cliff face to the top of the adjoining mountain which cradled the Kipraro Temple in its cluster of peaks. 

Spock did well enough for the first half of the journey, climbing through the thin air kept him anchored in reality due to the harshness of his breathing. But halfway up, the stairs diverged onto the rock face, with a sheer drop on the left. The steps were sometimes missing, having been sloughed away in rock falls. New foot and hand holds had been crudely chiseled into the face by previous visitors. 

Spock followed over these gaps by copying Sgroud's actions. Hand on hold, swing out, straighten leg, blindly find foothold, shift hand. But Spock increasingly could not take the proof of his senses seriously. Rather than a living world with a faint overlay of another realm, he felt himself looking out from the other realm at an unreal, but familiar world. The mountain, the cliffs, and the distant valley floor far below were things of no substance. 

Yet again Spock was choked, dragged back to the rock face by Sgroud's hold on his robe. At the next solid footing, Sgroud dragged Spock down to his knees and held him there in the wind. Pinwing birds sailed by below them. The bruises on Spock's knee caps pressed into the rock, bringing the solid realm into sharper reality.

"Put an oxygen canister in your teeth," Sgroud demanded, holding one out. "I cannot let Sarek's son die, no matter how offended I make him keeping him alive."

"I am not offended," Spock said. He took out the oxygen bite, breathed across it into his mouth. His head cleared, but the world did not feel more real. 

Sgroud dragged Spock along the next slowly rising section of ridge trail by his hood, stopped at a sizable overhang that was out of the wind. He crouched and ate a snack, offered half to Spock, who experienced a painful memory from this gesture. 

Sgroud said, "What is the matter with you?"

Spock looked around them at the improbable landscape, across the endless horizon of spired mountains and down on both sides of their perch into the deep valleys lost in gray-red dimness and dusty haze. This wasn't the kind of reality that willingly remained fixed in one's mind at the best of times.

Sgroud said, "Your ancient honored family be damned. I demand to know before we go on."

Spock looked up a him. Cocked his head. He experienced affection for his father's assistant. It was so much easier to understand his fellow Vulcans when they lost their calm. "I apologize. I am half in the realm of the dead."

Sgroud stared, took the half eaten snack back from Spock, tore a bite off of it. Peered off into the distance while he chewed it.

Spock felt he should explain better. "This temple is like my mind, also only half in this realm. It is most disconcerting. The closer we get the less I can sense where this realm begins and ends with any reliability. I do not mean to make things difficult. But I also cannot resist approaching this place."

"I thought you needed oxygen." Sgroud held out his hand to take the oxygen back.

"I will keep it. It is helping."

"Good."

Spock said, "It helps me sense the place of the dead more clearly too."

"I see." Sgroud's face grew grim. "Are you trying to join them?"

Spock looked down off the tiny ledge. "Reality seems strangely harmless."

"It will feel harmless until you hit the bottom, or more likely a ledge a hundred meters down. Come. This is what I get for fooling Sarek of Shikahr into thinking I am fifty years older than I actually am to gain a position with him."

"Indeed, he does not trust your inexperienced logic," Spock said.

"I am well aware. After this, I do not trust his."

Sgroud's wiry grip didn't release Spock's robe until they stepped up onto a dizzying plateau twelve meters wide surrounded on two sides by a crumbling, low cliff. A decorative stone gate stood at one edge. It opened onto a narrow natural bridge over to the temple itself on the adjoining peak. A burly priest sat at shoulder height in a niche beside the gate, watching them. Other visitors sat in a rough circle on the plateau in poses of meditation. A few cracked their eyes open to observe the new arrivals.

The temple stood broader at the bottom where it hugged the mountaintop, soared high in places. Chiseled windows cut into the stone were sometimes the only way to tell rock from building. The odd symmetry of it played upon Spock's mind. There were answers to impossible questions here. This was astronomy of the mind, delving into the universe from within, not from without the way a telescope and sensors did. No wonder there were visitors camped out, trying to experience it from as close as possible.

A pinwing bird rose on an air current and banked away out of sight. The air seemed to vibrate with harmonic songs, but there was only the nearly silent wind at Spock's ear. Spock was certain that each next step would transition him through to another world, not just that of the dead, but one of several, but it didn't. He exhaled sharply each step in both relief that it had not happened and disappointment that he had to continue fearing it.

Sgroud went to the gate. He bowed to the priest, who peered down his nose at them.

"Your business?" the priest whispered in archaic Vulcan.

Spock stepped up beside Sgroud and looked through the gate priest because looking at him took too much effort. Spock said, "Exalted High Priest Zienn told me to come if I had need of him. And I have need of him. Therefore I have come."

The priest's brows came together as he looked at Spock. 

"You are trapped in Ormalan."

Spock didn't know what that was, so he didn't reply one way or the other.

The priest climbed down out of his niche. "Come, visitor."

He led Spock through the gate, held up a hand to keep Sgroud from following. Spock trailed him like a lost puppy. He allowed himself to be led into the center of the cacophony of psychic assault that was widening out a space in the living realm to make way for other realms to co-exist.

"You are not dressed as a priest," the gatekeeper complained.

"I resisted coming." Maybe that didn't logically follow, Spock realized, but it was true.

Spock was led through another gate and into a low walled area accented by ancient worn stone decoration, across this and through a door carved directly into the cliff face and up a half flight of stairs inside. Ordinary crude furniture adorned the rooms they passed. They reached an inner room of pleasant ambient temperature. A pitcher sat on the table with stone glasses surrounding it.

"Sit, visitor. I will bring Priest Zienn as you requested."

The gatekeeper went away. Spock stared at the thin red sky through a row of high windows on the arched ceiling. He had been led straight into one of the most restrictive temples on Vulcan. He wondered if he could get into trouble for that. Spock laughed lightly through his nose. That was a concern for the living realm. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. A chorus of harmonized minds shifting reality flowed around him. He shuttered his own mind as much as possible, not wanting to interfere. In another space he sensed a core mind at work in a ring of other minds, felt singular minds like lost satellites on the periphery of it all. 

"Spock?" came a startled voice, then a few words of Vulcan so ancient Spock couldn't understand it.

Spock managed to raise his head, which felt like the head of a broken puppet he almost forgot he owned.

"You are inside the temple." Zienn seemed stern, like a stranger. He stepped closer, raised a hand to outline the area before Spock the way Sybok would have done. Spock stiffened, found a corner of solid reality to peer through from that surge of fear.

"You are in a state of Ormalan." 

Zienn came right up to Spock, put his hands on the sides of his head below his ears. Reality came sharply into focus and the other realms slipped away. 

Zienn said, "May I have your thoughts?" 

Spock had no choice but to nod. He had an errand to complete, even as distant as that need felt right then, and this would logically be faster.

Zienn's mind overlaid Spock's. He reached into him, traced along the memory of Sybok's heart stopping, dragging Spock beyond with him. 

Zienn's voice was gentle. "You are not beyond. You are only Seeing and Feeling the beyond from one side of your mind which was never trained to understand it." 

Zienn explored the memory again, more slowly, showing Spock the events with his own expert understanding overlaid on them. "Sybok sent himself straight into the limbo of true death intending to take you along with him. In his anger at your betrayal, and lack of understanding of you, he consigned himself to limbo alone."

Spock felt that moment again. He experienced his own heart being sliced open. Zienn tarried along the edge of this memory, urged Spock not to flinch from it, helped him trace an membrane around himself, to see where his person began and ended at that moment, despite the memory of his senses. He felt again that moment when he yearned to comfort Kirk and the living realm returned. Felt a flush of shame.

Zienn said, "Your brother had no chance of tearing your Katra free of this realm. Even though I see how he made the attempt. You are anchored by emotions he could not comprehend. Shame is not logical in light of how this represents strength."

Zienn's hands loosened on Spock's face, found new positions. "Suppress that emotion and I will show you how to control this window on the realm of the dead."

Spock did as he was commanded. Found a core of calm and placed himself in it. He couldn't completely suppress his emotions at the fresh memories of the fight. His heart sped, his arms tensed.

Zienn calmed what Spock could not, reached farther into Spock's mind and closed down the extra senses, erected barriers to them and showed Spock how to hold them in place. With great patience, he walked Spock through opening them again, seeming to step to the other side and back, closing them again. Spock had no idea of how long the process took. As before, he could willingly remain in Zienn's chiseled mind indefinitely.

Zienn released Spock and stepped back. "Better?"

Spock sat straight. The room seemed solid, surprisingly crude and ordinary. Zienn's lessons made him feel humbled. "That was quite easy for you."

"It happens not infrequently to practitioners at minor temples. A more difficult than average death can easily put a less expert priest or priestess into the state you were in."

Spock thought he'd experienced something unique. "I see," he said. 

Zienn took a seat, peered into the pitcher, went out and returned with another pitcher filled with juice.

"Any excuse," Zienn said.

Spock could sense deep forces around him, but they didn't have a hold of him anymore, didn't push him along as though he tried to ford a river. "I hope I did not disrupt anything."

"No. Nothing elaborate today. The usual. An interlocked chain meditation to determine if there is a consciousness at the center of the galactic cluster."

Spock wanted to believe Zienn was joking. "I see." He poured himself some juice, then asked in concern, "Did I disrupt that?"

"No. It is an ongoing side project of a few of the older members." Zienn finished his glass, poured out a measured smaller amount.

"I have need of your services," Spock said.

"Further need?"

Spock nodded. "If you are able. My brother harmed another in his last minutes."

"The other is?"

"My lover, the human, James." Spock had never called him that, but he wanted to call him that now that he was as uncertain as ever about their relationship. He and his father had tricked Kirk, and it would be perfectly logical if the human would have nothing more to do with him. Spock needed to savor the terminology while he could.

Zienn said, "I have never met a human let alone melded with one. Are there not Healers who specialize in humans?"

"Possibly."

Zienn carefully set his glass down. "Where is this human?"

"On earth."

"Not here on Vulcan?" This was spoken quietly.

"I could fetch him in the ship, but that would be a further delay, and he is obligated to not to depart the planet at this time, so while I could bring him, there would be repercussions. I was hoping you would accompany me to earth."

Zienn finished his glass. "I promised I would crawl out of my protective shell if needed, didn't I?"

Spock looked down at the table. "I would not force the issue, Honored Priest, but I only trust you. And this human is important to me. Perhaps the most important thing"

"Quit it with that honored thing and I will try and find a way around my cowardice." He put his hands on his head in a pose of distress, then let them fall and was back in full control.

Spock stared at Zienn in the wake of this wholly uncharacteristic gesture.

"You have difficulty with reality," Spock said.

"I spend as little time as possible in it. Yes."

"You seem to me anchored in perfect control."

Zienn's lips relaxed. "Spock, I understand you well because you and I both had to overcome something unusual simply to attain average. There can be great power in that kind of challenge to shape what we bring to bear upon our lives. Unlike most of the priest class, I did not fear as a child seeing beyond this realm, I feared being forced to cope with the living realm at all. It is utterly illogical, but I do not like it."

"That is unexpected," Spock said.

"Also unexpected to find you here. I apologize for my outburst upon first seeing you. It was likely insulting."

"I barely perceived it."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that was the case."

Spock put his hands on the table. "May we depart?" His voice sounded small to his own ears.

"You've dropped the honored thing, so yes, we can. Before I think too hard about my agreement."


	6. Perception

Spock followed Zienn down the steps and out into the walled area of the Kipraro Temple. The sun's angle now made deep shadows out of half of the flat area leading across to the inner gate. Zienn strode with purpose into the wind streaming across the precipitous natural bridge. At the outer gate, he spoke a few words to the gatekeeper and nodded for Spock to lead beyond.

Sgroud was kneeling by the trail leading up, meditating. He stood with agility and bowed low to Zienn.

Spock put the oxygen bite back between his teeth so he could keep up with the two of them. The way down was far easier. Now that he believed the footholds carved into the mountain really mattered, that death was real, he found joyful focus in the activity, and proper heightening of his senses in the interests of survival.

At the ship, Spock led Zienn up the ladder from the ramp to the bridge and directed him to sit in a jumpseat. Zienn made no move to hook the harness around himself. Spock did it for him, apologized for touching him.

"I am more than capable of shielding any contact, Spock," Zienn said with a disbelieving air.

"Polite habit," Spock said. "Keep the harness hooked until you are informed it can be unhooked."

Zienn peered sharply at Spock. "What is going to happen?"

"You have not been off planet," Spock realized this as he spoke. "The ship will surge when it enters warp speed. It can displace the occupants of the vessel rather abruptly."

Spock went to the copilot's seat and strapped himself in. Sgroud already had the course to orbit reserved and locked into the navigation. Spock double checked the settings and pulled the handle to engage the impulse drive.

The ship leapt. The mountains dropped away in a flash of dark red valley to yellow-red sky. The front windows dimmed and the landscape again came into relief. The curve of the planet grew prominent and the ship rumbled through the rougher upper atmosphere. The impulse gradually smoothed out. Spock adjusted for orbital path while Sgroud laid in a course for earth. 

Spock turned to look over his shoulder. Zienn was sitting with his head bent, hanging onto the restraints. He raised his head at Spock's attention and blinked at the view of the curved horizon out of the window, the black of space beyond.

"May I get up?"

"Remain restrained," Sgroud said. "Warp transition in this ship is unsteadying."

Zienn pressed himself back against the bulkhead, closed his eyes again.

Spock turned back to the board, checked the numbers, pulled up a path display.

"Engage?" Sgroud said.

Spock had never been asked to confirm that. "Engage," he said.

The ship surged to warp. After the deck became steady again, Spock went back to help Zienn unhook.

Spock said, "I will fetch you sustenance so you can be at strength when we arrive."

Spock returned with his favorite food packages for the two of them, pulled out the table and sat facing the pilot stations so he could watch the displays. He had sat here with Kirk at one time also sharing a meal. A time so far in the past it seemed another life.

"You are distressed," Zienn said. He tilted his head thoughtfully, shook it faintly. "I think I spoke out of concern, not propriety. I cannot remember which is more important."

"I do not hold to propriety very much."

Sgroud turned the pilot's seat around to face backwards.

Spock raised his chin to address the pilot. "Do you want some, Sgroud? I can fetch you something."

Sgroud continued to peer at Spock. "I am certain I am the servant."

"I do not care," Spock said.

Zienn lifted his right eyebrow at Spock, turned slowly around and said to Sgroud, "I will fetch you something if you prefer."

Sgroud straightened. "That is unacceptable, Exalted High Priest." He looked between the two of them. "Your behavior makes me uncertain."

Zienn peeled open a container of fruit puree and savored the scent of it. "You do not understand how one such as myself can seem less Vulcan than Spock when I am supposed to be the epitome of it and he a struggling half-effort."

Sgroud's wind-aged face fell still. Spock felt appalled for him.

Zienn took a bite, licked off the small spoon. "I have found the outer edge of acceptable propriety for Spock as well."

"I believe you have." Spock opened his own food package. "I am accustomed to your habit of speaking my thoughts for me. I expect others will be much less agreeable, at least initially."

"I needed to be reminded of that. Thank you." Zienn ate another bite. 

Zienn turned sideways in his seat to speak to Sgroud. "Spock is more Vulcan than you or I because he has made a choice to be Vulcan. You and I were never offered any such choice and we should not be given undo credit for what is merely the actions of fate."

Spock had not thought he needed to hear this, but something inside of him was drinking thirstily of it.

Zienn turned back to Spock. "That is not the source of your stress, however."

"No, the source is the betrayal of James. My father and I tricked him without mercy or personal consideration. We saw no alternatives, but that is no consolation." Spock pushed the food aside and clasped his hands together. "And I was weak. I believed with your healing and my new disciplines I could bear down under the force of my brother's mind. That was a bad miscalculation. I was as an insect before him. Healed, he did not trust me, was no longer fooled into recklessly superiority. He did not hold back."

"What happened to Sybok?" Sgroud asked. "Since we are dropping propriety."

Spock looked up at the pilot over Zienn's shoulder. "He is dead. James Kirk put a knife in his heart."

Sgroud's face lost its color.

"To save me," Spock added. "Although I amplified my distress to force James into action so the fault for his death is at least half mine, if not all." He waited. "Do you have further questions? I would like to put them all aside at once since this is a difficult topic.

Sgroud said, "You let him die?"

Spock shook his head. "He wanted to die. He dragged me into death with him."

Sgroud raised his chin. Nodded. "I understand your state of mind now." Sgroud did not swing the seat back around.

"He has more to ask," Zienn said between sniffs of the last container of food.

"Something else?" Spock asked.

"I cannot properly ask more."

Spock dropped his eyes to Zienn, who fell thoughtful, then said, "He wishes to know how you can feel so little about such events."

Sgroud again stiffened at hearing his thoughts spoken. 

Spock said, "You have not been with this family long. You have never met my brother. He abused all around him. He likely drove his mother to kill herself. He performed ritual abuse on beings he purchased. I watched him . . . felt him . . . consume the Katra of a Romulan." Spock tilted his head, trying to hear something beyond his ear. He felt partly deaf now from not sensing the other realm constantly. "If I must cease to be Vulcan to believe it, I accept that; his death is no loss."

Sgroud stared for a time. "I am little aware of what goes on in this family."

Spock tried to sound reassuring. "It should be calmer ongoing. Now that my father has had his heart repaired and now that my brother is no longer arranging for a Constitution Class starship to destroy Vulcan by making an emotional slave of her captain."

Sgroud appeared to stop breathing.

"Yes, the Federation lied, with Vulcan's approval. Should I fetch you something from below?" Spock asked. "You appear weak. Perhaps from the climb."

Sgroud scratched his face, turned back to the control board.

"His questions are settled. In a way," Zienn said.

Spock stood up, gestured at the empty package before Zienn. "Would you like more of the same?"

Zienn said, "I would, but I can fetch it."

"You are a passenger on a private vessel. That standard of interaction is in force. It is not in service of any honor."

"I will bow to that logical tradition, given my ineptitude with regard to interplanetary vessels."

\-------- 8888 --------

The ship waited for permission to enter earth orbit and when it did, executed a powered descent, only slowed in the last klick to land on the pad nearest the building associated with the transmitter ID that had sent the message to the embassy.

Zienn unhooked himself from the harness and stood, peered around the ship with concern. He followed down to the ramp hatch and waited, stood with hands clasped, eyes closed.

Spock turned to Sgroud. Dread at facing Kirk, his injury and his perfectly logical anger, were taking hold of Spock. "We may be more than a day, I do not know."

"I will go to the embassy. If that is all right."

Spock found himself put in charge. "Yes. That is acceptable. Keep in range of communications in case I have need of you or the ship."

"I will inform the staff on Vulcan that we have arrived."

"Thank you."

"And if I may do the honor of informing your father that you were mistaken for a high priest and ushered into the Kipraro temple . . . ?"

Spock turned back to Sgroud. He felt amusement despite the pit of fear clutching at his control from the inside. "If you wish. I certainly cannot inform him without risk of having my intent at informing him misinterpreted."

"I will definitely do so then."

Sgroud climbed back up to the control deck. Spock waited for Zienn to give some sign that he was ready to depart the ship for the rooftop.

Eventually the priest lifted his head. "So very many uncontrolled minds, so close."

"I may be able to obtain permission to take James to orbit, if that would assist you."

Zienn appeared bemused. "That will not assist me. At least there is the weight of a planet here, as different as it is."

Spock starkly understood Kirk's command dilemma in that moment. He needed Zienn to perform a personally difficult task, but could take his weaknesses into account only up to a certain point, after that, the mission had to override. It felt uncaring to do so, but he had no choice.

Zienn, as usual, did not need to have any of this expressed. "I will be fine in a few moments, Spock. I am growing accustomed to this environment already, adjusting my disciplines which are not as universally applicable as I have deluded myself into believing."

Spock stepped up close beside Zienn in the dark of the ship's hold. The earthy atmosphere had penetrated the ship when the ramp unsealed. The gravity felt light and unrestraining. "I admit, I do not know how this world appears to you given how much you can sense."

"It appears very alien. But that intrigues me, even as unsettling as it is. I think the temple may be too insular. We may be failing to see everything possible in this universe given how different this is." He bowed his head, raised it, face neutralized. "But I sense we are in a hurry?"

"Yes. But only if you are ready."


	7. Meld

Guide to characters still in play (skip down for chapter)

Kirk - 25 years old, formerly of the USS Sanchez and USS Ranger.

Spock - 19 years old, applying for Starfleet Academy after his father gave in and allowed it. Has a tendency to fall into clandestine operations. 

Lt. Commander Natasha Overlander - previous commander of the USS Ranger until an injury and bad reaction to treatment left her post vacant to be filled by Kirk. She's the one Kirk visits in the base hospital right before the Ranger starts its first mission with Kirk in command. After Ranger's return to earth, she and Kirk went dancing and she confessed to having social and posting difficulties due to being 30% cyborg. She's currently hosting Kirk and company at her place.

Commander Salicia "Sal to her friends" Graham - former First Officer of the USS Potemkin, currently commander of the USS Hampton. She's the one who comes down on Kirk for wandering around the Potemkin when it was carrying him from Vulcan to Earth. She's in charge of the Hampton when it arrived late on the scene of the battle with the captured USS Sanchez and the cargo ship bot factory. After the "meeting" party, she gives Kirk a tour of her ship and tries to seduce him. They also date a bit later on earth. Most recently, she was visiting the USS Potemkin when Garrovick took it to attack Vulcan and helped disable it.

[A/N: I tried to give Graham and Overlander very different names, but I see in the comments, not different enough. Probably shouldn't have used exclusively soft consonants for both of their names. Graham is basically always hardnosed and can only care what people think if she tries to. Overlander lacks purpose and only gets tough when one of a small handful of topics come up. They look very different in my head, and I'm sure I've done a terrible job describing them. I need to work on working appearances in more, in general.]

Captain Garrovick - Captain of the USS Potemkin. Traditional old captain. Offers Kirk a place on his ship as first officer to replace the outgoing Graham. Kirk has dinner at his table after his rescue from Wolfram Thesus V. Sybok gets ahold of Garrovick some time before the battle with the cargo ship bot factory. After Command weeded out Sybok's other victims, Sybok was forced to move down the chain of command to victims off planet. Probably got ahold of him on a starbase or on leave. 

Lt. Mather - Starfleet Security HQ. Assigned to interview Spock to clear Spock prior to acceptance of his application to Starfleet Academy. 

Oplack - (rank unknown) Disturbingly obsessed Intel officer who takes over Spock's questioning from Lt. Mather. Threatened to make Spock's age and his relationship with Kirk an issue for Kirk. 

Lt. Kevin Riley - First officer of the USS Ranger

Dr. Chris Chapel - CMO of the USS Ranger

Yeoman Rand - Commander's Yeoman USS Ranger

Ensign Glissen (I don't think I gave her a first name, so we'll go with Julya (pronounced Julia, more or less) - Originally the second in command of security on the USS Ranger, currently in command of security on the USS Ranger.

Zienn - Vulcan high priest, formerly a healer. Helped Spock as a child and again when Spock returned from the Outliers/Militants. 

Commodore Stone - Head of the Klingon defensive sector. Coordinates the starfleet ships operating on that border of the federation.

Commodore Mendez - Head of the Romulan defensive sector. Coordinates the starfleet ships operating on the Romulan neutral zone

Admiral Coyran - Phoned into Vulcan to talk to Kirk when Kirk was first rescued with Spock from Wolfram Thesus V. Kirk meets Coyran again before his assignment to the Ranger. Coyran oversees a special section of Starfleet Computing (AKA the Core) and wanted Kirk's (he thought) virus. Kirk looks Coyran up again after returning from action and Coyran is under house arrest. Coyran is likely to be appointed Rear Admiral in charge of all operations. He's unofficially Acting Rear Admiral at the moment. When an internal investigation is sparked, planted evidence implicates Coyran as the source of the forged orders. He is later cleared of this. But he's taking over a shitty situation and isn't feeling very gracious right now so we don't have to like him. He's probably clean, but if you want to fear he isn't totally, that's up to you.

Admiral Pritchard - Officially Rear Admiral, but not really in command. He gave Kirk command of the Ranger. Sybok compromises him with the intent of ordering an attack on Vulcan, but Pritchard's difficulties are detected and he's sent for treatment, which has left him less intellectually sharp than he used to be. 

Admiral Howard - A throw away character we never meet. He's probably the first to be targeted by Sybok and the first to be detected inside Starfleet as untrustworthy. The revelation of his being compromised sparks the internal investigation that detects Pritchard is also compromised. 

Other stray Vice Admirals are floating around such as the one Finnegan works for and another one in charge of Starfleet Academy. Can't promise that they won't pop up again.

Lt. Ducal - Formerly Admiral Howard's assistant who finds out too much about what is going on (knows too much given that Starfleet would prefer to keep some things quiet). Rather than send Ducal to the Federation equivalent of Siberia Station, it's decided he's a dutiful guy and he's put to use keeping an eye on the treated Admiral Pritchard and running personal messages between the senior team members trying to clean up Command under the radar of everyone else. He is now one of Admiral Coyran's assistants. He and Kirk would be pretty good friends under other circumstances.

* * *

Chapter 7 - Meld

Spock and Zienn were allowed into the residential building elevator by the security computer. A tall woman in a Starfleet workout suit opened the door to the apartment.

"You must be Commander Overlander," Spock said.

She stepped back to invite them in. "You must be Spock. I've been wanting to meet you."

Spock turned to introduce Zienn and found him staring at the human with undue fascination, looking her body over carefully. Spock heard it then, the tiny sound of actuators and graphine-arsinide motors, the dull click of stop limiters muffled by artificial flesh. This human wasn't entirely human.

Knowing Zienn couldn't understand him, Spock said to Overlander, "This is Exalted High Priest Zienn. You will excuse his lack of decorum. He lives a sheltered temple life on Vulcan and does not see fit to behave as an ordinary Vulcan because of this."

"I don't care if he lives in a cave on a mountain top. I'm just glad someone is here."

She led the way across the apartment. "He's in the bedroom. I gave him valerian tea, which worked for a while, but he's doing worse again."

Spock opened the bedroom door. The scent of Kirk and stress hung in the stale air of the room. Kirk lay on his back, half covered, shirt twisted around his torso. The light from the doorway made him spasm. Spock closed the door and went to sit on the edge of the bed with an arm out over Kirk's torso. Zienn followed more slowly.

"Can you help him?" Spock asked.

Zienn came up to the head of the bed, held his hand out above Kirk's forehead, not touching. "I have never seen such a state of sustained fear. You will have to meld with him, and I will use that pathway in."

Spock's fingers convulsed on the covers beside Kirk's arm. "I have never initiated a meld."

"That is unfortunate. It would be very useful if you knew what his mind looked like before the injury." Zienn spoke with quiet patience, which told Spock he didn't have much hope. "I will try my best. But I am so far out of my experience as to be acting irresponsibly. My first goal is to do no more harm to this being so that another may try after me."

Spock nodded. His eyes were burning.

"You must keep control of yourself, Spock."

Spock nodded again. Breathed in and out rapidly like he had as child when he was battling down a state of despair.

"First you need to calm his body. Put your hand behind his neck and very gently suppress the nervous signals traversing there."

"I can do that for him." Spock reached out as he spoke. Kirk's neck was clammy and sticky. His nerves prickled Spock's fingertips but were easily dampened.

"Good. He is familiar with your touch and accepts it. There is little at work here but exhausted raw instinct. I fear he will react very poorly to me."

Spock adjusted his hand on Kirk's corded neck. He had thought Kirk was lying senseless, but he was in a state of agitation, muscles feebly contracting despite utter fatigue. Spock further muted the signals he could feel under his hand. The tension leeched from Kirk's arms, his chest fell, rose and fell more regularly. 

"Very good, Spock. Hold that, and put the fingertips of your other hand on his right temple."

"I do not know how to do this." Spock felt inept, an imposter.

"Stop thinking for yourself and do as I say," Zienn's voice snapped out.

Spock settled his fingers on the slight indent at Kirk's temple, instinctively found the telepathic hot spots on his cheek, in his hair just behind his temple. He could feel Kirk's spirit, the very life of him, surging under his hand, pulsing up his arm.

"Release your shielding. Given your abilities, that's all you need to do. Close your eyes if you need to do so to see inward."

Spock felt despair bleeding into his heart. He had one being he held dear in this universe and he had used him terribly, disposed of him. Spock closed his eyes on the vision of Kirk's half conscious upper body.

Spock instinctively wanted to keep his mind apart from Kirk's, to hold himself properly alone. He forced his habitual barriers down, again and again, trying to let their minds merge or even bleed a few sensations across the natural link formed by their skin contact. Spock fought another surge of despair and bitter fear. He was not fit for this task, he wasn't Vulcan enough. He was certain to fail.

Spock felt something tease at the depths of him. He thought it must be Zienn assisting him. But Kirk's lips moved, whispered his name. Spock felt a surge of worry for himself, and affection, such passionate affection it made Spock's eyes burn to dampness.

"I feel a little better," Kirk said aloud, then cleared his throat. He tried to move, and found Spock's hands on him. His hand reached out to Spock's left arm, slid it to where his hand was on his temple.

"Hey," Kirk said with a small laugh.

The meld opened. Spock again consciously resisted out of habit, had to force himself to let go, and each time the meld broadened Kirk's warmth flowed across it.

Zienn said, "You are doing well. I am going to join with you. Nod if you are ready."

Kirk had stiffened, stopped breathing at the sound of Vulcan being spoken. Spock could hear Kirk's exhausted heart throb harder, sloppier. Spock showed Kirk the first meld he'd had with Zienn as a child, how gentle he had been despite Spock's youth and fears and scars. 

Kirk's mind thrashed as much as it could in its utter exhaustion. His hand pulled at Spock's fingers on his temple, but Spock held firm. He showed him again, with great patience. Showed him the memory of conversations over glasses of juice, the Vulcan priest's unusual lack of decorum. The fight drained from Kirk as he was drawn into these memories, drawn into wanting to be there too. 

Spock nodded. He was tiring. His own emotional needs were draining him rapidly. He had no disciplines to shield this task from his own weakness.

Fingers contacted Spock's forehead, stroked his bangs out of the way, pressed tight.

Like a burst of light coming from within him, Spock was no longer alone on his side of the meld. A hand settled over his own on Kirk's face. 

A voice fell in Spock's ear. "You need to pull back your emotions or you will be fully exhausted in minutes."

"Emotion is how I am melding."

"It isn't. It is how you drew him out, but you can gate them now. Move farther into him and leave the emotion behind, like a cloak you are dropping."

Spock couldn't imagine how that might work.

"Just do as I say." Again the strict, unforgiving tone.

Spock imagined himself stripped naked, drifting closer to Kirk, which he was certainly familiar with. But without feeling, just with the memory of intimacy.

"Not quite what I was asking for, but it will do. I will likely have to extricate you from the meld soon. Warn him of that."

"He senses you. And that."

Spock pulled back without permission. He was wavering dangerously and feeling despair again, which was going to spiral rapidly downward.

He felt Zienn slip into his place, felt Kirk's instinctive terror, but also his tenacious discipline. Kirk understood what was happening and had just enough willpower left to give himself up to someone Spock trusted, solely based on that trust.

Zienn didn't hesitate as Kirk gave in, their minds overlaid, first one area, then pulled back and overlaid in another. Spock took firm hold of another's hand for the first time in his life. He gently encased Kirk's hand in his own and hung on the periphery of the meld, squeezing whenever the human's instincts veered toward pain and panic at the worst of the memories. He sensed that the bulk of the damage was Kirk's own doing after the meld's initial injury and his father's partial healing. 

Spock moved in from the periphery of the meld to project affection and apology at Kirk. Zienn paused to allow him to do this, invited him in farther. Kirk's spirit felt far healthier. He was starting to control the meld and Zienn was having to guide him rather than continue to master him. Spock marveled all over again at Zienn's steely but flexible strength of mind, his lack of fatigue.

Two and a half hours passed. Zienn sat back, pulled his fingers off Kirk's face. "I believe I have succeeded, but I have no way of knowing beyond his ability to assess himself, which is more thorough than I would have expected." He put his hands on his legs as if he needed to gather his strength to stand up. "Remain with him." This last was a firm command and not to be denied.

Zienn went out of the room. Kirk's chest rose and fell. He seemed to sleep for half an hour, then roused, tugged at his tangled shirt. He lifted his hips to straighten his shirt, then straightened the covers. His motions were simple and normal.

Kirk cracked his eyes open. "Why are you sitting there?" He tilted his head, shifted over on the bed. "Join me."

Spock remained, held in place by guilt.

"Oh no you don't." Kirk sniffled. His hand rubbed Spock's knee. "Come on. I want you close."

Restraining himself to nurse his own emotions would hurt both of them. Spock put his robe aside and slid naked into bed beside Kirk, whose hands expertly found their way around his body, pulled him tight.

Kirk sniffled again. "I don't feel very good about how you used me."

"I could not inform you ahead of time."

"I know that. That's not the issue." Kirk's command tone had returned, unharmed. "You treated me like a bot. Pointed me at something you wanted destroyed and set me lose. Two Vulcans too cowardly to kill."

Spock willingly took the criticism into himself, tread carefully. "That was not the primary plan. I intended to outlast him, deflect him, while learning his plans. But I could not. He had never aimed his full strength of mind at me so I was unaware of the extent of it. The knife was a last resort. You are a soldier and I could not bear to have you unarmed and I had to give you something lacking a power supply as that would have triggered the transporter alarm."

Kirk bit his lips, let that explanation work upon him. "That's a little better." He shifted downward to rest his head against Spock's chest. "I always say I'd rather personally face my enemy so I can put a knife in him. You set me up for that, and now I'm complaining about it."

After a time, Spock said, "Thank you for allowing me to comfort you."

"Hey," Kirk said with affection. "I want you here. You made critical decisions under circumstances where there was no good options. I understand that." He shifted against Spock, settled closer yet. "I understand that only too well. Intellectually, that is. I'm royally pissed off at you at the same time. But this is how it is, sometimes."

Spock shifted each hand a few millimeters just to feel the flesh under them give way. "If you are allowing me an opportunity to make it up to you, I am unspeakably grateful for that."

Kirk sniffled again, breathed in and out. "I felt like hell and you brought me help, even though it meant leaving your father."

"He was recovering as expected. He ordered me to come."

"Did he? I'll have to thank him for that." Kirk shifted his legs, rolled partly onto his back. "I need to sleep. I feel strange still. Much better, but strange." 

Spock pushed up onto his elbow to better examine Kirk, ran his fingers over his neck, laid his hand over his heart, fully under the cage of his chest. Tremulous fatigue still emanated from Kirk, but it was fading. 

Kirk looked up at him. "You melded with me." His lips twitched.

"It was necessary."

"Can we do it again?"

Spock pressed his hand down tighter, felt Kirk's human heart throwing its distinct beat up against his hand. "You wish to do so now?"

"I would. If you can." Kirk shook his head. "If you can't. It's okay." His voice was silken affection, tired longing.

Spock settled his fingertips over Kirk's temple. Kirk turned his head toward him to give him better access, psychically spreading himself open to Spock's attentions.

Spock felt sexual need surging in him. A smile spread across Kirk's lips. "Oh, that would be interesting. At the same time."

"Perhaps not in someone else's bed."

Kirk continued to smile. "Perhaps not." He took Spock's hand, pressed it harder to his face. "Come into me, Spock. Please."

Spock couldn't separate out his physical desire from his psychic reticence. He decided it didn't matter and weakened the barriers to his thoughts enough for their minds to begin merging.

He felt Kirk from the inside: tired, relieved to be better, bitter and emotionally stung, but reserving it as best he could because he could do no less for Spock.

"Speaking of holding back," Kirk said with affection. "No, sorry, take your time. I certainly have taken mine." He dropped his hand from Spock's and relaxed flat against the bed, open and yielding.

Spock rested his forehead on the top of Kirk's head, tried to let himself grow comfortable with the exposure of a shallow meld. He instinctively longed to withdraw, despite the pleasing close companionship.

After a few minutes, Kirk said, "Spock. Don't hold the meld if it bothers you."

Spock withdrew. 

"I figured it out," Kirk said, eyes half closed with sleep. "You only feel safe when you're alone in your head. That's okay, if that's the case."

"I am surprised you are so willing to meld. It is a gross invasion of one's inner self."

Kirk opened his eyes long enough to stroke Spock's collar bone. "I love the idea of being completely one with you, of not feeling the least little bit alone. But I saw in your mind the opposite of that, how you are safe alone. So now I understand." Kirk dropped his hand. "I think I'm going to sleep more. Stay with me?"

"I will not leave your side."

Kirk's arms tightened around Spock, then his muscles released one by one as he fell senselessly into healing sleep.


	8. Remake

Commander Overlander stood as her Vulcan visitor entered the main room. He looked up at her sharply. His mind had appeared to be elsewhere, but it zeroed in on her in an instant. He bowed and went to the kitchen area.

"Do you need something?" she asked.

He tilted his head more.

"Oh. I don't have a translator here." She went to the cupboards, opened them. Went to the chiller, opened that. Gestured that he should look around.

He moved a bit like a mouse, still one moment, moving shyly but deliberately the next. He tried the containers, found orange juice, held it up in question.

"Yes. Please have it." She gave him a glass. 

He sat down and proceeded to consume the entire container. She ordered more juice, a large variety pack to be delivered immediately by hoverbox.

She sat down across from her guest as he sipped slowly at the last of the orange juice. She wanted to tell him more was coming but didn't feel like going through the effort of pantomime when it was mere minutes away.

He considered her thoughtfully again. Looked unerringly down her arm, the left side of her torso. Even through her clothing, he seemed to sense instinctively where she wasn't flesh. She straightened, frowned, let it go as not mattering.

His head tilted again, studying her face. His expression changed for the first time. His brows bunched up for an instant.

The hoverbox came to the balcony, set the package down and flew away. This attracted her guest's alarmed attention.

"Exalted high priests don't get out much." 

She fetched the insulated carrier. The beverages were nice and cold. She set the tall boxes of juice out in a row before her guest.

He looked like a kid at Christmas for just an instant before returning to utterly emotionless.

He opened the first, pear, and sniffed it, pushed it aside. She poured some for herself and sipped it with relish to make a point. He sniffed the air and shook his head faintly. Tried the next, peach. This met with his approval and he poured a full glass of it.

She put the others in the chiller and after a hesitation where she tried to read his body language, resumed her seat across from him. She wondered what an exalted high priest did exactly, but didn't want to be rude and ask the computer while he was sitting there. She clasped her hands together before herself in mimicry of him. His left brow went up.

"You don't speak any Standard?" This didn't get a response. "I guess I can't criticize since I don't know any Vulcan."

His gaze went down her arm again and this time she suspected he did it to change the subject. Odd, that conclusion, but she couldn't shake it.

She usually hated to do it, but she pulled up her sleeve and showed him the machinery beyond her fabricated hand. She hadn't been able to get a real flesh covering for the same reason she hadn't been able to get a limb graft to avoid the machinery in the first place. He reached out to touch the clear covering over the workings of her arm. The machinery was a tiny fraction of the volume, moving, living inside an airy, soft case. She held her arm out closer. He ran his fingers along it, down to her hand which was a near perfect replica of a human one.

His brows came together as he gripped her prosthetic hand, eyes distant. She could feel him touching the artificial flesh through the pickup installed in her brain and wondered what he was enamored by.

He put her hand on the table, held his hand out over it. Put his hand down over hers again. Seemed surprised again. Tilted his head. Straightened suddenly and withdrew both hands and clasped them before him. 

They sat that way a long three minutes. She wondered if he knew any board games. She had chess on a shelf by the window. She went and fetched it down. He stared at it as if seeing it for the first time.

She took all the pieces off the board. Picked up each one, put it down, showed the ways to move it, took it back off the board. He watched this and watched her, seeming equally interested in both.

She set up the game, took white with out offering it and made the first move. He looked over the board for a long time, possibly five minutes. He moved the pawn before the knight ahead two.

Midway through the game he looked away, stared out as if seeing through the solid wall. He flinched ever so faintly, returned to his former unflappable self.

She pulled the game slowly to the side as if to suggest they stop. He nodded, went to the middle of the floor by the window and adopted a crosslegged posture and fell into what appeared to be deep meditation.

She put on headphones and lay on the couch. She would normally be at the hospital at this time of day, but felt she should stay. 

Nearly an hour later, the priest rose and went deliberately across the room and into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

She watched the door for bit but couldn't hear anything, put the headphones back on and rested back, relieved things were taken care of for the moment.

\-------- 8888 --------

Zienn found Spock and his human entangled on the bed and breathing deeply as though asleep. Spock's eyes were closed. His limp hand rested half-caught in the human's hair. A sense of peaceful wholeness radiated from the pair of them in a mode unfamiliar to Zienn. It wasn't a meditative state. It seemed to be an ad hoc realm of its own formed by Spock in response to their companionship and the desire to be wholly alone with his human. Spock should not have been left untrained, especially if he were capable of such a thing.

Zienn found a chair on the other side of the bed and sat slowly in it, fascinated. Spock moved his head and opened his eyes, found Zienn's.

Zienn held up a hand in apology. Spock's hands checked his companion, moved lightly over his forehead, drifted around to feel the pulse at his throat. Satisfied, he rested his head back, nodded at Zienn. He was little disturbed by shame considering his position, naked, holding a lover who was not his according to his family.

If their closeness brought such oneness, Zienn could imagine why it continued, despite so many intervening events. 

Spock raised a brow in question and Zienn waved that Spock should rest. Spock closed his eyes, shifted his human slightly in his arms and fell limp again. The sense of wholeness resumed radiating from them with even more force. Zienn put his steepled fingers to his lips, meditated lightly, felt his way around the edges of the small realm, careful not to disturb it directly. Clear as he breathed, he experienced envy. He sat back, purged the emotion and sat in stillness again, thoroughly auditing his mind, one level at a time as if he were an acolyte again.

The human made a noise of distress. Zienn snapped out of meditation and sat forward. But Spock had already calmed the human from what was apparently a dream, was already putting him back into sleep with a touch on the back of his neck. 

Even if he would have had difficulty being placed as a priest, Spock should have been sent to a temple. He was an adept learner. Although, perhaps this was because he'd been forced to learn on his own. And after Sybok's troubles, training would have been even more difficult to arrange. Perhaps the family had tried and failed to obtain it.

Zienn steepled his fingers again and fell into thought. He felt Spock's eyes upon him, asked in a voice too low for human ears, "You are all right?"

"Yes," Spock replied.

"I am quite recovered if you need assistance again." Zienn half hoped he did, he wanted to feel that wholeness from closer in, if possible. 

Spock looked him over, seemed to sense Zienn had ulterior motives.

"Forgive me," Zienn said. "I am fascinated by your relationship."

"Indeed?" Spock was disbelieving. His hand moved over the human's hair as if in question of his presence in his arms.

"Very much so. Envious even."

This brought both of Spock's brows up.

Zienn said, "Perhaps I should leave you be."

"You may stay. I owe you everything, including the return of said relationship."

"I overheard something about saving all of Vulcan from a highly destructive starship."

Spock nodded at the being in his arms. "That was him. And his crew, many of whom did not survive the encounter. The woman out there is that ship's former commander. She likely wishes to go visit the injured crew. James and she do so daily, from what I understand. You could accompany her. You might find that informative."

"I will try and communicate that."

"There is a machine that will communicate for you. We can obtain one."

Zienn stood and went to the door. "I would abhor that. Are you certain you are all right for a time?"

Spock's voice was overburdened with gratitude. "Quite. Thank you."

Zienn stepped out of the room and over to the human who lay listening to music out of tiny devices in her ears that sounded painfully loud to Zienn even at a distance. As an experiment, he snapped his fingers twice. She opened her eyes and sat up, fully alert. Then her expression grew condemning. 

He gestured for her to rise. She did so, stretched her tall body. He stood and waited for her to figure out what she wanted to do. Her thoughts made their way to her crew, a place he'd observed in her mind before but hadn't understood the context of. He held up a hand as if to halt her, gestured to the door. 

She grew alert, stared at him.

Zienn was reminded of Spock's admonishment to take care with letting others know he was reading their thoughts. Her entire demeanor was slowly shifting as she worked out what had just happened. He put his hands up and bowed in apology. 

She said something in exasperation. Shook her head, doubting her conclusion. She said something more and went off to another room and closed the door. She emerged in uniform. A military ship's commander, Spock had said, a notion alien to Zienn from every aspect.

She nodded her head that he should follow and Zienn did. He would have to wait for a clear physical signal from now on rather than revealing that he knew her thoughts. It would be impractical, but emotionally simpler.

Zienn moved through an earth hospital, from one damaged human to the next, fully inside his disciplines. The hospital staff peered at him curiously. He was introduced often to others. He could recognize his name, and there were other words that always accompanied his name. The image in Overlander's mind of his role on Vulcan evolved and shifted. She put a great respectful distance between them one moment, then seemed to find him amusing the next moment, then easily shifted back. This fluidity of social distance was as fascinating as anything else he observed.

The last human they visited was a male Overlander seemed very familiar with. She bent over him solicitously, touched him almost constantly. The man asked something with great concern and was answered in almost patronizingly reassuring language. Zienn had long since pulled up firm barriers on his mind. He dropped them long enough to discover the man was asking about Spock's human, had an image of that human's damaged struggle in his mind from a recent encounter. 

Overlander gestured at Zienn and spoke soft words. The male turned to Zienn with some stress, both fear and pain, then looked away.

Zienn came closer on the other side of the bed, held a hand out over the man's closed eyes, felt the pain of self recrimination, guilt, self loathing, a destroyed self image. He looked up at Overlander, wished for the device Spock mentioned.

Overlander peered at him. She seemed to suddenly realized this strange Vulcan might be able to help her friend. 

She spoke to the man on the bed. Zienn couldn't understand, but the man jerked in surprise, became panicked in his own weak way.

Zienn held up his hand to her. Shook his head. This was not the sort of injury he could attend to. 

She spoke more and the man fell still, but wary. Overlander frowned deeply, bent her head as if overburdened and failing under the load. She raised her head and said something more brightly to the man on the bed. The man on the bed smiled painfully and his eyes grew moist. He looked up a Zienn, nodded that he understood something. Zienn risked another lowering of his barriers and found an unexpected understanding that the man had done something noble, had attacked a much larger ship than his own to save Vulcan. But there was some confusion about who was supposed to be in charge. There was confusion about moving too rapidly to an unsafe area to cease the pain. Zienn couldn't sort out the emotional impressions he was getting and apply logic to them to form a larger concept.

Zienn stood puzzled. If this man had saved Vulcan, why was he so guilt-ridden and fearful? Zienn raised a brow in question at Overlander. She gave him a wry smile in return, said something to the man on the bed, that made the man lower his gaze. Zienn sensed she was speaking for Zienn to the man, but doing so would be ridiculous given how little she knew of him.

Zienn stepped back, re-erected the barriers around his mind and settled behind them. He refused to wish for a translating machine a second time. Communication was a thing strictly between beings.


	9. Security

Kirk returned from the shower. The drumming of the water nearly knocked him back to sleep upright under the spray. He pulled on a clean shirt and workout shorts that had been left out beside the bed. They were unisex and fit well, but were black and lavender. Spock was kneeling on the floor at the corner of the bed, eyes closed. 

There was a low soft chair wedged next to the headboard by the floor-to-ceiling window. Kirk turned sideways to step by Spock without bumping him. Kirk rested back into the chair, held in a sigh. He found a beaten up padd under the bed. It had an old western up on the screen, Riders of the Purple Sage. Kirk pulled up the news feeds, despite the imminent gunfight described on the screen.

Starfleet was holding hearings, many closed, a few open. The hearings about the Federation response to the crisis were open, most of the rest were closed. No one on the Potemkin was allowed to talk to the press, but there were unattributed leaks. With four hundred crew, there would be. No one interviewed seemed to know the real reason Garrovick had gone rogue. 

Kirk searched for Jumpero's name, then Graham's. There wasn't anything beyond that they were called for questioning. Kirk had lost access to the Starfleet feeds that might tell him more. He expected the two of them were confined to base for the duration, at a minimum. He wanted to message Graham and ask her how she was doing, but that likely wouldn't help her situation if it came up in a hearing.

Motion drew Kirk away from reading the transcript of an interview with a tight-lipped Commodore Stone. Spock had risen to his feet in one smooth vertical movement.

"How are you?" Spock asked.

"Not too bad," Kirk said. "I wonder if Overlander has access to the 'Fleet feeds."

Spock approached and sat crosslegged on the floor beside Kirk's feet. He triggered the window to become transparent enough to allow in a muted light and a view of the city.

Kirk put the padd aside. "Tell me what happened. With Starfleet Security."

Spock turned with a lift of his chin. His dark robes and hair made the soft light on his neck and cheek seem stark. Kirk admired the graceful lines of him while Spock put together a reply.

"My brother contacted me while you were away."

"And you informed your father?"

"Yes. Immediately. We considered our options at length." Spock's Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed hard. "My father thought to entrap Sybok on earth and we attempted to lure him somewhere we could restrain him. But he refused to be baited. We feared we would lose the opportunity entirely. If he insisted upon remaining with his ship, we needed assistance, but obtaining it was problematic. As you have pointed out many times, it is difficult when you do not know whom you can trust."

"You decided you could trust Mather."

Spock looked away, brow furrowed. "I had a not logically determined impression that I could."

Kirk smiled faintly. "You went with your gut."

Spock turned his head up to him. Kirk held the smile until it could be observed.

Spock said, "Yes. And from that point, the plan was designed almost entirely by Mather and his superior, who informed only one other in their department of the details. Sybok would know immediately if you were cognizant of our true intent, and he insisted upon your delivery to allow my presence on his ship. It was imperative to determine my brother's plan. That was the primary purpose of the operation aside from apprehending him. But I failed to do so."

"Spock." Kirk leaned forward. "It didn't matter. It was too late to stop it."

Spock's lips parted, closed again. He met Kirk's gaze. "I sacrificed you for no possible gain."

"No. You sacrificed me in an attempt to accomplish something critical. I'm a soldier, Spock. There's always a risk that the mission might not have meaning. You do it anyway simply because there's a chance that it's necessary." Kirk felt these words leave him, but didn't entirely feel the truth in them. They felt like a deflection from something he didn't want to admit.

Spock said, "I believed I could deceive him, hold him off from my inner mind. I failed, in many aspects."

"I know where you are right now. And I know I'm going to fail to convince you that you don't need to feel guilty. And that you need to look ahead, instead." Kirk adjusted himself in the chair, pulled his legs close. He still felt more secure curled up. "Did you file a report?"

"Yes. I was given instructions for that, and did so from Vulcan."

"But you haven't been debriefed."

Spock shook his head.

"Why don't you go arrange that with Mather or more likely his superior. Right now."

Spock studied Kirk's eyes. "You will be all right alone?"

Kirk raised a blistering left brow. "Spock."

Spock stood, bowed his head, hesitated.

Kirk pushed his shoulders back, smiled. "Spock. I'm okay. Go on. Save some of my pride, please."

Spock departed and Kirk picked up the padd and flipped Riders of the Purple Sage back to page one.

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock clasped his hands behind his back as he waited in the lobby of Starfleet Security. Staff moved around him, chatting, hurrying, pausing to reference devices in hand. Spock was feeling calm without the need for disciplines to maintain it. Unlike his first visit here, he had no concerns for his safety. He contemplated this change in perspective, in his understanding of organizational function, and felt more confident about attending Starfleet Academy, if he was allowed in.

Commander Iona emerged from the lift. He was a balding man of Spock's height with white sprinkled into his remaining black hair. He had dark eyes, black like a Vulcan's and nearly as sharp. He evaluated Spock a long two seconds, then leaned over the reception counter and instructed the person there to generate a visitor pass for Spock.

Still leaning on the counter, Iona turned to Spock. "We're glad you contacted us. We couldn't find you after we got your status."

Spock wished he had asked Kirk how much he should say regarding him. "I was seeing to my father's care."

Iona handed Spock a badge chip to pin on. Spock did so, aware as he did so of how different his Vulcan robes were from everyone else's dress. 

They stepped into an empty lift. 

Iona said, "How is Commander Kirk?"

Spock heard the deceptive casualness of this question and answered with equal deception. "He is well. He was seen to by a Healer my family has used for a decade and is almost completely recovered."

"I'm glad to hear that. His file's still open with Command."

"I believe it is up to James when his situation will be formally reviewed."

They stepped out at floor 5. The corridors were busy.

"That would be considerate of Command if they left that up to Kirk with no deadline."

"That is my understanding."

Iona nodded distractedly. They stepped into an empty conference room and the door closed. 

"Sit down," Iona said.

Spock did so, maintaining the same calm. He believed he fully understood what was at stake and was eager to close out this documentation of recent events, and try to move on, as Kirk suggested.

"This won't take long," Iona said. He powered up a display inside the surface of the conference table. "Lt. Mather will join us if he becomes available. Otherwise, it's just you and me." Iona shook his head, slid his finger over the tabletop one way then another. "We're still NTK on this. Need To Know. I'm not used to running this sort of thing manually, so bear with me."

"Is Admiral Coyran trustworthy?" Spock asked.

Iona laughed softly. "Living up to Lt. Mather's assessment of you, I see."

"Is it not a fair question?"

Iona sat back, clasped his hands together. His brows were trimmed thinner than the human average and were more expressive as a result. "I suppose it is."

"James wishes to trust him. Is there no way to be certain?"

"He's been evaluated more ways than you can imagine. But given the range of possibilities in this galaxy, there are no guarantees." Iona narrowed his eyes. "But moving on." He reached out and tapped the tabletop. "We have reviewed the recording from the minisensor, which doesn't provide great resolution, but it provided basic positioning and audio. You probably don't want to see it in any event."

"I have an eidetic memory."

Iona's sharp gaze studied Spock again. "So it doesn't matter to you if you watch it again?"

Spock contemplated this question and was uncertain what the honest answer was. "No," he replied.

Iona looked down again. "It's lucky for us this mission is NTK because we shouldn't have assigned you to it in the first place. And we'd be answering for it."

"What was the realistically probable alternative action under the circumstances?"

"See, there you go. You fooled us with your appearance of maturity. I realized writing up our report with all the attendant facts that you're just a kid, with an addendum in your file adjusting your status for Starfleet Academy admission."

Spock choose not to reply. Under this assumption his questioning today would go easier.

Iona said, "But. Emotional control does not equal maturity, something I've never considered before. We, humans anyway, gain experience and get better at burying our emotional needs as we get better at things, get confidence. You, on the other hand, come by that control naturally, it seems."

Spock shook his head. "It is not natural."

This gained him Iona's full attention again. "No? That mean any human could do it?"

"Yes, I would assume."

"Hm. Well, I'll keep that in mind next time we're revising our training." Iona read the table display. "As to the events in question. When I heard your brother on the transmission, I immediately realized how out of your depths you were, but there was no way to recall you without attacking, which we did do eventually when we had no choice. You told us you had spent weeks with him without coming to direct harm, so I didn't realize what we were dealing with."

"I tried to inform you what he was capable of."

"We thought he trusted you more than he did. He didn't trust you at all. And he was far less mentally stable than expected."

"He knew I had betrayed him. He did not want to believe it. That was the situation at hand."

"Clearly. Now clearly." Iona looked Spock over. "And you are okay?"

"Yes. I have more defenses than James."

"You were screaming when he went after you."

"My distress was exaggerated to get James to take action. His state required a greater impetus to come to action."

Iona nodded, smiled faintly. "Maybe you weren't so far out of your depths after all. We recovered the computer core off his ship and analyzed it. It answered most of our questions about his movements and activities." Iona swallowed hard. "My most critical question for you isn't about what happened. It's more about the future. How many other Vulcans are like him?"

"None that I know of."

Iona's face grew angular, like a Vulcan's would when feeling challenged. "How many are capable of being like him? Why was he like that and you not, for example?"

"Those are very different questions."

"Answer the first one."

"I do not have an authoritative answer. The Outliers are self-selected for the requisite motivation but they do not possess the requisite mental skills. Those with such skills, the few that have them, are taught to channel them into pursuing explorations of the inner mind. They spend little time in what humans refer to as the real world. They have little to no political interest."

"Those are what you call priests? Those skills run in castes, right?"

"Families, yes."

"Yours, for example."

"Yes."

"And every so many generations there is unusually highly telepathic skills." Iona waited. "Right?" He waited again. "Your generation?"

"That is what I am led to believe. I am not an authority on this."

"But you have family lore, don't you? And, funny enough, you are half human. Your stalwart, traditional and insular family married off planet." He waited a beat. "I seem to have broken your calm. I wondered if I was going to."

Spock consciously avoided breathing deeply. "I do not know if that is why my mother is human. That is only a guess."

"You've never asked?"

"I have never had a reason to."

"Really? I'd think you'd want to know. You aren't curious?"

Spock suppressed the urge to stiffen his upper body. He had only the answer Kirk had once given him. "I am fairly certain my parents love each other and beyond that it is no matter."

Iona smiled faintly. "That's an interesting answer for a Vulcan. Which you are not entirely." He looked down, brows arching. "You don't seem much like your brother, I admit, based on what I saw of him on the recording."

Spock did stiffen this time. "That is your concern?"

"One of them. You were coming across pretty hardened there, especially for your age, but that weak spot with your mother certainly seemed genuine. So, I tend to agree with Lt. Mather that you are harmless."

"You have the records from Intel's interrogation of me, do you not?"

"I have Lt. Mather's report, not the computer records."

Spock felt his neck heating up at the memory of Oplack's micro-brain network interrogation practice. "Your two departments do not cooperate very well with each other."

Iona seemed amused by this. "No. We don't. And with regard to there being others like your brother, we'd like to know who else to watch out for. What else to watch for."

"I do believe that my brother was a rare Vulcan. I know of no lore, except very ancient and subject to dramatization that is comparable to him. And my family warned the Federation in rather strident terms when he was exiled. We did not keep it a secret. The Federation would be warned the same, if there is a next time."

"I did find that old communique after some searching. Ten years is a long time for us to keep track of things."

"Do you not have computers to assist with setting priorities? You have Commander Oplack to remind you."

Iona appeared to suppress a smile. "You know his rank?"

"I estimated from his attitude." Spock resisted adding, I assume he has the same rank as you.

Iona sat back, rested a hand on the display. "Speaking of which, I'd like to talk to Kirk as well. Is he fit for a debriefing?"

"If I am not mistaken, since it is no longer an emergency matter, he is out of your reach until the conclusion of his review hearing." At Iona's raised fine brow, Spock said, "I began reading your rules and regulations after being unexpectedly tested on them during the Academy application process."

"We can speak to him using civilian protocols. Knowing the rules doesn't help if you don't know how everyone works around the rules. Be careful what you think you know."

Spock nodded. Waited.

Iona stood up. "Well, for now, I think I've gotten what I'm going to get out of you."

Spock stiffened before he could resist it. "Have I not been cooperative?"

Iona smiled. "You're an interesting one. Lt. Mather thinks you're naive. I think you're too smart for your own good. Either way, three years in the academy will take those edges off."

Spock stood. "I wish to conclude this matter. If possible."

"It is for now. But, as always, new questions might arise in the future. We may call you in to help us assess any future risks. If you are in Starfleet as it appears you will be, doing so will be straightforward. Do you have anything else on your mind with regard to what happened?"

"I am not like my brother."

"If you are, you are very very good actor. I may get your records from Intel, just to force some cooperation." He winked. "I'll show you out. See that you don't talk to anyone beside Kirk about this mission, all right?"

"Of course."

As Spock stepped out of the lift at the lobby, Iona said, "Try not to outsmart yourself at the Academy. You'll have a much easier time of it."

"I do not understand."

"Ah. Well. You will." 

The lift doors closed. The staff who had also exited moved off after a glance at Spock. Spock returned his badge at the desk and walked back to the apartment to give himself time alone to think.


	10. Accepting

Kirk sat up and stretched. He needed to get up and stay up, especially because earth's gravity felt much higher than it should and that meant he was getting unbearably sluggish. 

Spock's shiny raven head was visible just off the corner of the bed, meditating. His neatly cut hair had started growing fuzzy at the edges, which made him look less stoic as well as less mothered.

Kirk slipped out of the bed and into clothes with rapid quiet movements so as to signal he didn't intend to disturb Spock. He stepped through the quiet main room of the apartment and out onto the balcony. He slid the door closed behind him against the wind, breathed in, hoping the shock of the air would wake him fully. Overlander turned. She was leaning on the low rail with her full weight. She reached over to the wall and keyed on the forcefield to cut the wind, resumed leaning out. She was solidly built, but like Kirk believed of himself, had grown soft.

She said, "How are you today?"

Kirk swallowed, squared his shoulders even though he wasn't quite feeling confident enough for the gesture. "Better." He stepped up to the rail and looked out at the forest of buildings in the cold haze.

She looked out too as if pretending her mind was elsewhere. "Glad to hear it."

"We should leave your apartment in peace. I do appreciate your continued hospitality."

"No rush."

Kirk looked through the glare on the glass doors at Zienn who was meditating in the center of the floor inside.

She said, "I can order some food. What meal do you want?"

Kirk remembered hazy hours of sleep, a few snacks, a lot of mindless reading. He'd been awake several times, but not as alert as this. "What time is it?"

"Probably dinner time."

Kirk rubbed his arms. He felt composed of spun glass. "Dinner sounds good."

She turned around and leaned her backside on the railing which accentuated her hips. "You can stay as long as you like. You have interesting friends."

"Both of them like to meditate," Kirk said, trying to quip to cover his odd sense of himself.

"You aren't 100%," she said.

Kirk shook his head. "No. But I'm probably good enough to visit the crew again. How is everyone?"

"Everyone's home except Riley, who's been moved to psyche and is undergoing treatments that require he isn't distracted by the past. And his family isn't happy with any of us, so getting permission to see him right now would be tough. Rumor has it they postponed his hearing. Possibly indefinitely. They could section J him and not have to worry about the strain they'll cause him for no good reason."

"I hope they do that. Come down on Garrovick instead."

"Think he deserves it?"

Kirk sensed that this question was a test. "I don't know. I just think he's stronger than Riley."

Overlander sighed. Kirk couldn't hear it. He saw it in the shifting of her chest and shoulders. 

Kirk asked, "Have you arranged a hearing? For yourself, regarding the maximum cybernetic limits?"

She tilted her head, finally looked at him. "Instead of a hearing, they've offered me a position on the Apollo."

Kirk raised his chin. "And you're taking it, right?"

She looked over her shoulder out at the mist drifting in strands, white on more white.

Kirk said, "What position?"

"They haven't said. They're willing to put me on a ship where there are at least two others to man the same position and a full sickbay that can be outfitted to maintain my automation."

"They are trying really hard."

Her face grew rigid. "You think so?"

"Yes. Organizations don't bend like that without real effort."

She looked away again. "What they want is for me to oversee Apollo's retrofit. She's coming in in a few weeks for it, give or take another breakdown. I suppose I could live life as an XO. I've certainly learned how to manage people. I learned it the hard way, from a hospital bed."

"Nothing like having no choice but to use someone else's eye and ears."

"And judgement. That's the hard part. But yes. I oversaw my ship's refit without ever seeing my ship."

"Did they promise you First when she relaunches?"

"They dangle it out there like there's a chance. If I do well. As if I want to be second in command." She turned to him. "Would you take it?"

"In a heartbeat."

"But you do well in your own command."

"I'd take anything. Just to get back out there." Kirk's eyes burned as he spoke. He shifted his arms from crossed to hugging himself.

"You okay?"

Kirk slowly shook his head. "I'm too sensitive. Like the best I can hope to manage is avoiding getting hurt again."

"You've lost a lot. You can't even put on a uniform."

"Still. I shouldn't feel like this." 

He saw her gaze focus inside the room beyond the glass doors. Saw her shake her head. He assumed to tell Zienn to stay put.

Kirk said, "My response has always been to fight, to strategize and plan. Right now I feel like curling up and letting whatever happen, happen. Stay low and out of the way."

"Feeling sorry for yourself."

Kirk frowned and nodded. "Yes. And that's not like me."

"You never feel sorry for yourself?"

"No."

"Lucky you. I've had to work hard on that."

"It gets you nothing." Kirk held himself tighter. "But I'm not going to get anything anyway. I'm poison to Starfleet Command." Kirk pressed his eyes closed, opened them to let the air cool them. "Still. I haven't felt like this in a long time."

The balcony door slid open and Zienn stepped out, the wind caught his dark brown hair and pulled strands of it over his left eye. Kirk unfolded his arms and went to the railing to get away from him, leaned hard on it, felt the prickle of the forcefield on the skin of his face.

There was a long silence. Overlander said, "But you've felt like this before. This isn't something still wrong in your head?"

"Yes, I've felt like this before."

Kirk watched a stream of aircars at various altitudes fade in and out of the fog. He could taste the fog, a cold, distant, dusty lake.

"When did you last feel like this?"

Kirk turned at her therapeutic tone, assumed she'd learned it from attending therapy. He smiled wryly and faced Zienn who looked flat in the haze. Zienn didn't seem to care that Kirk was fiercely resisting needing him. He stood with quiet patience, observing. 

"I felt like this . . ." Kirk thought back, felt his hands go weak. "I felt like this when I arrived back on earth on a refugee ship from Tarsus IV, and for the first time I was happy to be home in Iowa. I was desperately looking forward to normal boring row upon row of crops and pole barn parties and the swimming hole and just worrying about nothing. And my mother said I'd gotten what I'd deserved for wanting to leave in the first place."

Overlander stretched her shoulders back. When Kirk looked over at her, she was biting her lips. 

"Sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"I knew that later. It had nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with me. Everything for her was always entirely about her. But at the time. I felt like this. I felt terribly sorry for myself."

Zienn tilted his head in question.

"I don't want to need you all the time." Kirk stepped by the Vulcan and into the apartment. "I need to be alone in my head or I will really have given up."

"That's more the Kirk I know," Overlander said.

\-------- 8888 --------

Dinner smelled wonderful. Overlander had ordered Eritrean food, had spread the injera out on an array of plates and emptied containers of seven kinds of vegetarian food onto them. Spock and Zienn were drawn like moths to the table, noses leading.

Spock returned his attention to the padd he held, set it aside before sitting down. Kirk watched him do this, read tension in Spock's posture.

"Get a message?" Kirk asked him.

Spock looked up. "Yes. I have an offer to attend Starfleet Academy."

"Congratulations, Spock," Kirk said. "Have you accepted it?"

Spock kept his head down, waited for Zienn to pick a food to try before doing the same. "I have not yet decided." He looked over the platter of foods, looked up at Kirk, then at Overlander. "I am disappointed in how the two of you are being treated by Starfleet."

"Spock. Don't let that influence you," Kirk said.

Overlander said, "No, please don't. I, for one, am not being treated unfairly."

Kirk turned to her. "So. You are accepting the position with the Apollo?"

She gave him a pained smiled. "I guess I better. I'm apparently setting a horrible example."

Kirk leaned toward Spock. "Spock, if you didn't know either of us, what would you do with that offer?"

"I would have already accepted it."

Kirk tore the bread he held in half, dipped it into the fiery spicy red peas. He didn't say anything. Spock wiped his hands and reached over for the padd, touched it a few times, set it aside again. He dipped bread in a cold green pile of salad, chewed experimentally.

Overlander said, "Cadet, you are woefully out of uniform."

Spock raised his head, stared at her. Kirk ducked his, trying to hide his amusement behind a flopping piece of bread. 

Kirk couldn't hold out, began laughing. "Spock. The look on your face. 'What have I done?'"

"Am I subject to such orders?"

Kirk tipped his head to the side, cleared his throat. "Well, technically you accepted a commission just now, so, yes. But in practice, usually no. If she has a compelling reason to order you around, absolutely. She doesn't right now. You are subject to the Academy, your teachers, the upperclassmen." Kirk tried not to smile too hard again. "Your face though . . ."

Spock stared hard at a haughty Overlander before relenting and turning to Kirk. "I see more clearly why you and I have special paperwork."

"Yes." 

Kirk got up to look for wine glasses, waved for Overlander to stay where she was. He poured out wine and handed glasses out. Zienn flinched away from the smell of his glass, set it far away.

"A toast to the two of you," Kirk said.

"I haven't made mine official," Overlander said with a full mouth. "But cheers." Their glasses struck together. "To retrofits."

Kirk kept a congratulatory mood in the front of his mind to avoid dwelling on his own situation. He was painfully proud of Spock and proud of Starfleet for attracting him into the fold. If he thought about himself, he felt immediately at sea again.

\-------- 8888 --------

The Starfleet Academy main doors rippled in the blue-gray light as they repeatedly slid open and closed. Spock stepped out from under the overhang beside the driveway and into a persistent mist without care of it. He'd glimpsed this building many times as a child from a few blocks away through the darkened windows of the embassy aircar. He'd always been in a state of high control for fear of revealing the hopeless ache the tower and curved overhangs brought forth.

It wasn't just the idea of Starfleet that drew him in, but simply the idea of having a choice to explore what might be possible if he were allowed to do so without restrictions. This time, Spock walked toward the building, belonging there as far as his documentation was concerned. As the curved windows rose up and towered overhead, he felt as if he again straddled the real world and another realm, since this possibility was never supposed to become real.

The doors opening and closing caused the air flow to shift inside the lobby, striking Spock's ears. Six other early admission students, most in the dress of distant worlds, were coalescing around terminals, checking in. Spock waited behind a human male wearing what could have been a fashionable pressure suit lining rather than outerwear. The young man was too intent upon his own inner wonder to notice Spock when he turned with eyes seeking landmarks on the walls to orient himself. He wandered away, eyes glazed.

The terminal gave Spock his dormitory assignment, two buildings away, DB81. It issued him a small secure padd from a slot and told him the device would direct him further. Spock put it under his arm and stepped to the side to look around, the action he expected Kirk would take at this point, rather than the one he was inclined toward. Across the wide corridor, a harried lieutenant was directing new students and dealing with assignment problems the computers apparently couldn't predict. Spock itched to take apart the little padd he'd been issued. 

An Andorian woman stopped before Spock, bowed. Spock recognized her from the interviews.

"You remember?" she asked.

"I do," Spock said. "You succeeded despite your exaggerated concerns." As Spock said this he realized he should not have. He had grown accustomed to the norm of open exchanges between Kirk and Overlander.

The Andorian woman stared, then laughed. "I must credit you for my success, at least in part. You continue to school me, I suppose I must accept this."

Spock bowed too. "I should not have spoke thusly. I apologize."

This made her step back. "You look like a Vulcan . . ."

Spock slowly drew himself up straight. "I think we now draw even on insults. Do you not?"

She laughed again. "I must check in, but I wish to know your name and room to insure I see you again. If that is culturally acceptable."

"My name is Spock. I am in DB81. And you are?"

She studied his face. "I am P'Losiwst, but the humans habitually call me Lois."

"Which do you prefer?"

"It is less painful to have the name consistently wrong as Lois."

"If I am capable of stating your name correctly, P'Losiwst, would that be preferred?"

Her pearly eyes grew mischievous, her antenna dipped. "It would. I must check in now."

Spock bowed again and moved away. The longer corridor was lined with 3D simulator projections of lectures and students giving final projects. Spock slowed before each in the marked area where the audio was available. The projects were all various contents of third year courses, physics, advanced leadership, star lifespan prediction, flexible emergency organization methods. Spock stopped before a student project showing galactic collision mapping, listened to the young voice of the student clumsily explaining the math and guessing wildly as to the consequences of various system interactions.

A fellow first year student also stopped. Spock stepped sideways to gain space from her. She was small, with dark curls and unusually large eyes accented by inhumanly thick and long lashes. She wore a cadet's one-piece uniform. The quilted bars over the shoulders seemed too thick, doll-like, on such a small version of the garment.

Spock lifted his new padd and referenced where to obtain uniforms for himself.

Spock stepped through the body scanner, raised his arms, lowered them, then stepped out. While he waited the requisite three minutes for fabrication, he walked around the Academy Stores to see what else was available. Students were standing in small groups, talking excitedly about new versions of ordinary things their mother or father had kept from their years of service. Spock recognized a few of the objects in the bins before him: the clear hooks and clips that would make cabin drawers and cabinets hold more items. Many of the available items did not appear useful and some were supposed to be humorous and the opposite of useful.

By the time Spock circled back, his uniforms were completed. He accepted the package and headed unerringly to his assigned dormitory room from his earlier memory of glancing at the map. 

In his quiet and empty little dorm room, Spock changed out of his robes and sealed up the uniform along the seam under his left arm and up under the shoulder quilting to the collar, folded the soft collar over the pull end. The uniform had a lot of seals everywhere, the only way to make such a garment practical in a working environment. Spock stood rooted before his new blue-gray self reflected at him from the mirror on the back of the dormitory room door. There were two of him, the one he could look down at, down at the Starfleet issue boots that were far too constraining compared to his usual desert booties. And the other: standing with shoulders curved, looking like a stranger. 

Emotion had far too firm a hold of Spock. But he wasn't ready to suppress it. It reminded him of the first time he'd taken a shower in cold earth water smelling of green lake flora and chlorine, a transforming experience that shifted his awareness of himself permanently.

The pad chirped, informing him that a guest lecture on the primary geopolitical issues of their galaxy quadrant was due to begin in ten minutes. Spock had insisted that he would return to the apartment immediately after checking in. Kirk had insisted he remain and settle in at the Academy. Kirk had been deeply amused as he said this. Spock now experienced a warm, acidic emotion low in his gut at Kirk's generous understanding of his situation. He stood alone in his new dormitory room, but did not feel alone. 

Spock went to the lecture. He pushed his shoulders back, pretended the strangely clinging, binding garment he wore was familiar to him. He sat in the back of the tiered room where he could see everyone in the audience, observe as if not really present. It's not what Kirk would have done. It was what Spock preferred to do.

Dinnertime finally drew Spock back to the apartment, partly because he worried Zienn had gone the whole day without a means of communicating. Spock was certain the three of them had overstayed beyond all welcome, but Overlander seemed more than contented with the arrangement, and Kirk needed her unique understanding of his predicament, so Spock had not questioned it aloud. Given the close quarters of ships like the Ranger, perhaps the two of them took familiar comfort in this crowded and awkward situation. 

In the apartment's main room, Zienn sat before the chess board, contemplating a move on a game that appeared to Spock to be a draw. The high priest seemed more bothered by the many minds in the city around him than in the three close at hand. He looked up at Spock, eyes roaming over his new uniform. Spock had left his robes in the closet of his dorm room in a bid for a forced new normalcy.

"Look at you." Kirk stood from where he sat with a padd in his lap. His mouth was wrinkled in a pained smile, his hazel eyes were shining. He approached slowly, raised his arms to pat Spock on the sides of his upper arms. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you like this. You look good."

Spock glanced down at Kirk's gray workout clothes. "I wish things were different."

"No, no, no," Kirk whispered. "I feel proud for you. And proud of you. You had to get through a lot to get here. Enjoy it."

The balcony door slid open and Overlander leaned on the door jam, arms crossed, face critical.

"I am no longer out of uniform, sir," Spock said. He'd intended it to be a quip, but it came out strange and wavering.

"You have a fragile Vulcan there, Kirk," Overlander said. 

Kirk reached a hand out to Spock's arm again. "I do. Come on." Kirk tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Let's go have a talk."

The door closed. Kirk squeezed Spock's arms again and let go. "Don't worry about me. Okay?"

"It isn't entirely that."

"It is a lot of change to take in all at once. Especially if you've been wishing for a long time. You'll get used to it, start to take it for granted."

"I am trained to be more immune to my environment than this."

Kirk had stepped back. He approached again, slid his arms around Spock. "Don't cut yourself off from these kinds of joys, Spock. Even if it means being a little weak." He squeezed Spock around the ribs and rubbed his hands down his sides." He kept his hands on Spock's hips, but pulled back. He was laughing. "Spock. Are you going commando?"

"I do not know that reference."

"You are expected to wear underclothes. Maybe you don't have any?"

"I see. I will obtain some."

Kirk hugged him again. "Get some underclothes but don't change, okay?"


	11. Orientation

The four of them ate a quiet dinner and Overlander departed in a rush to track down some people on Spacedock 3, where the Apollo was expected to be berthed when she returned. Kirk knew well the state she was in. Once one embraced a future full of new challenges, one fell into it wholesale to avoid looking backward. Kirk felt envious of her and could not stop himself. Spock too had his future open ahead of him. Kirk, as usual, couldn't risk dwelling on his own prospects.

Spock went across the room and sat down across from Zienn on a low foot rest and asked pointedly in Vulcan if the high priest needed anything. Zienn was flipping slowly through a large book with glossy pictures showing earth cultures in closeup, colorful pictures, nearly half life size. He looked up at Spock, held his eyes. 

Zienn said, "I am curious about a number of things, but do not know how to phrase the questions usefully as yet." He dropped the page he held and sat back from the low table. "The human is very stubborn."

Kirk looked up at this, half understanding what was being discussed. 

"Allow him to be," Spock said. "It is one of his important qualities."

"I have no choice but to allow him to be."

Spock said, "Is that why you are remaining here? You are waiting on James?"

"No. He could seek me out as you did if he changed his mind. Or better yet, he could obtain the care of another more qualified." Zienn looked down at the book again. "I wish to see something of earth." He paged to a picture showing a Buddhist festival full of colorful long stretches of fabric billowing in the wind and sunlight. "I am more ignorant than I imagined. And I sense other sets of human minds I would like to interact with more closely. If you think that is possible?"

"Yes. It is of course possible."

"I tried to communicate with the Commander the idea of escorting me to one of these places and it seemed negatively received."

"There are many reasons for that. Time is an issue as is money."

"Money?" Zienn's face drew inward. "I seem to recall something about that. Vulcan also uses some similar system for rationing limited goods, correct?"

Kirk pulled a chair over to sit beside Spock. He couldn't help smiling.

Spock looked over to him. Switched to Standard. "How much of this are you understanding?"

"Enough to join in. He doesn't know what money is."

"He departed home regularly for temple training at six years of age, then permanently at nine. Vulcan years, that is."

"I understand. It's still amusing."

Zienn looked between the two of them, rested his eyes on Kirk and spoke in simple Vulcan. "You and the commander are well skilled and act often under danger. But you are not compensated well in units of this money? That is what I am observing?"

Kirk put his foot up on the low table, sat back. "Correct," he said in Vulcan. "We have to do this. You understand? Same as you."

Zienn nodded. "Yes."

Spock said, "I believe the embassy has funds for cultural exchange that often go unused in any budget year." He switched to Vulcan and repeated this and said, "Speak to Sgroud, my father's assistant who is overseeing the embassy right now. I can take you to him and he can make the arrangements and have you seen to your destination with a skilled guide to avoid needing a computerized translator."

Zienn fell silent, bent over the book but not seeming to look at it. "There is another thing. I need to be able to return to someplace familiar to recover. Or I cannot travel and withstand the strain of it. Do you think it possible I can return here?"

"That would be unusual," Spock began. 

Kirk bumped Spock on the arm, said in Standard, "Ask Overlander before assuming. I've seen the way she looks at him. She's still fascinated by him."

"I will trust your judgement in this." To Zienn, Spock said, "I will ask."

\-------- 8888 --------

It was late in the evening. Zienn sat before a small stack of books delivered by drone. One book was a Vulcan/Standard beginning reader for human children. Zienn ran his finger along the text, face studious.

Spock sat in Kirk's arms as they both reclined on the couch. Spock was trying to arrange a schedule of courses that interested him out of what was available to First Years. The guest lectures and short courses were of far more interest than those that were required. He read the papers of a few of the lecturers scheduled for the upcoming week to better prioritize them. The audience at the lectures he'd attended so far had been Starfleet personnel and staff and a few civilians. Only a handful of Academy students attended, this despite the lectures being hosted by the Academy.

Kirk was using Overlander's old beaten up padd to read the Starfleet feeds. His stray hand scrolled the screen, then returned to grasping Spock's arm absentmindedly. Spock felt him tense up. "I don't know if I should tell you, but I guess I should. Glissen has a hearing in two days."

"She was not on the Ranger during the recent action," Spock said.

"The hearing's not about that." Kirk's tone was corrective.

Spock remembered the events Kirk likely referred to, remembered in summary, with discipline-enforced distance. "Given all of the events that have happened since of far more import, Starfleet is choosing to address this one, now?"

"While they are slow, they are inexorable. It was going to be dealt with eventually, one way or another. I'm going to go, just so you are aware."

"Should I?"

"It's entirely up to you." 

Kirk's arm tightened compulsively around Spock's chest. Spock shifted down, rested his head more comfortably below Kirk's clavicle. Spock released the enforced distance from those events to more accurately measure his state with regard to them. It was all still there, the emotion of struggling for what he feared was his life reared up from the memory almost as forcefully as when it had happened. The repeated swamping of his senses from a phaser set to stun, waking up to new pains inflicted while he was unconscious. The pattern of it, promising nothing but more helplessness. Zienn tilted his head, raised his eyes, but made no move to approach.

Kirk's voice brushed Spock's ear. Kirk's pained, unbridled affection swamped Spock in place of the emotion of the memory. "You okay?"

"Yes." Spock let himself breathe slowly in and out, put his disciplines back in place and entered that comfortable frame of mind where he could feel Kirk's presence more acutely, could draw both of them into a state of peace despite the stresses on their emotions. Kirk put the padd down and closed his eyes, settled back, made a small sound of relief. 

Zienn raised his head again, face sharp, eyes moving between the two of them. Spock observed this and ignored the priest. Zienn turned back to his books, quietly said in old Vulcan, "You should not have gone untrained, son of Sarek."

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock unpacked a few possessions in his dormitory room from what he'd decided to bring from the embassy. With the foam-filled walls, even his sensitive ears found the room overly silent. Just inside the door was a clear case backed with blue velvet, an item which had also appeared in quarters on the Ranger. He mounted his medals inside it, along with the Reaper Token, snapped it closed. He might remove them later to a drawer again, but for now, he wanted to see how he felt about having them there, where they belonged.

His padd chimed, informing him of an orientation lecture beginning in half an hour, specifically for off-world first year attendees of the Academy. An Introduction to SA Cultural Practices, Behavioral Norms, and Mythos (True or Untrue) -- With Breakout Groups. All early arrivals were expected to attend. Spock wondered about the value of having culture explained rather than experienced. He imagined asking that at the lecture, also imagined Kirk rolling his eyes at Spock asking it.

Spock glanced at the lecture hall map and exited the room. In an area where five connecting corridors from various buildings came together in a half-moon shaped sunroom full of low soft furniture, Spock heard a familiar voice. He halted and turned to face P'Losiwst. A middle aged Andorian man stepped closer to her side. He wore especially intricate silver robes which matched his shoulder-length, swept back silver hair.

P'Losiwst's said, "Father, this is one of my class-mates in my year. This is Spock. Of Vulcan. Spock, this is my Father, Y'Rishick Jlowisam."

The Andorian bowed faintly in greeting, hands clasped before him. "I was not aware that Vulcan's aristocracy sent their young to Starfleet. Is this a change in policy?"

P'Losiwst's antenna rolled back, showing embarrassment, but she also looked interested in the answer.

"I am here only of my own my own will to be here," Spock replied.

Y'Rishick said, "Are you not of the family of T'Pau?"

"I am."

" I suppose she who is to take a seat on the Federation Council when it reconvenes next month may be more open than we might expect. You are acquainted with my daughter in what manner?"

"Father," P'Losiwst said. "I am simply mixing socially as you should expect of your youngest daughter since her coming out. He is of high breeding, which is usually all you care about."

"I will not have a scandal or even talk, P'Los. He is Vulcan, high family or not."

Spock stepped back with another bow. "I did not intend offense."

P'Losiwst released her father's arm and stepped sideways. Her skin had grown a deep blue. "Father, you are hopelessly embarrassing me."

Spock stepped back again, spoke gently, "I have a lecture I must attend. If you will excuse me."

The lecture hall was far larger than it needed to be for the three dozen attendees, who spread out thinly around the space. P'Losiwst arrived after Spock and sat near the door with her cross-armed father beside her, chin held high longer than must be comfortable. The lecture was more informative than Spock expected, a snapshot of social expectations with more examples than rules.

When the time came, Spock hung back to make certain he and the Andorian were not in the same breakout group. He sat down with two young male colonists from the inner colonies and an earth woman from Alaska. He knew this because they had all been instructed to make and hold before them a written sign stating where they were from. 

"Obvious where you're from," the blond man with the sign 'Zed' drawled as Spock settled in.

Spock nodded in acknowledgement even though he felt for the first time that labeling himself as from Vulcan seemed insufficient but perhaps not misleading. They each stated to the group why they had wished to join Starfleet, what they had learned so far from settling in early, and what they hoped to do in the future. Spock held back, found himself giving easy expected answers while the humans grew passionate in their replies, becoming more inwardly focussed the more passionate they became.

They broke apart and repeated this process in a second group before returning to the first group where they were instructed to describe to the others the second group of individuals they were now familiar with. A lieutenant who had been present during much of the application and orientation process stopped by their table.

"Everyone getting to know everyone? Have any questions?"

The men gave murmured answers. The earth woman gave a chipper answer.

Spock said, "Given that today's lecture is attended by a subset borne strictly of the difficulties of lengthy travel to earth, are you not creating and solidifying a subcultural group that will actually be outside the norm when the other students arrive or return?"

The lieutenant frowned.

Spock said, "I see. Your question was rhetorical. I apologize for treating it seriously."

Zed covered his mouth.

"There's always one," the lieutenant said with tired sigh. "You want an extra assignment, Cadet?"

"Of what type?"

"Normally, I'd make you memorize every name and basic bio in the room."

"That is trivial for me. But I can do so if you wish, sir."

The Alaskan woman blinked her almond eyes. "He asked an honest question; didn't he?"

"I am making trouble," Spock said. "Please do not enter into trouble as well."

The lieutenant said, "He's in trouble because he knows he's making trouble."

The woman sat back, shaking her head in confusion. Zed grinned at Spock. "I like this guy."

"Come here," the lieutenant said. "I have actual work I can put you to."

Spock stood and followed him to the front of the room where he was sat before a large padd table and instructed to organize student files and assignments for the next orientation. Spock nodded that he understood the instructions and set to work, intending to finish rapidly, but quickly finding that there were a great deal of conflicting criteria involved in some of the decisions about pairing people up to best create a mix of synergy and diversity of viewpoint.

When the breakout groups ended and the room emptied, Spock presented Lieutenant Grange with three optional arrangements based on different sets of assumptions.

Grange flipped through them. "I think I rewarded you rather than punished you. Why'd you ask that, back there? You know you can come to me with concerns in private. We take early cultural exposure seriously and you know perfectly well you were undermining that." He struck Spock as peeved and perhaps under-slept.

"I was bored, perhaps. Sir."

"You are going to be trouble until you're an upperclassmen when it's expected you'll be this obnoxious. Try to keep it in check until then." He started to turn. "Oh, and thanks for the assignments. They look good. Cadet Spock, right?"

"Yes, sir."

He studied Spock's face again. "I suppose I'm not going to have any trouble remembering you. Unless Starfleet admits a Romulan next year." He walked away. 

Spock returned to his dormitory room and read half of the textbook for the course on critical ship station functions, tried a few of the station simulations on his small assigned padd, which he had still resisted disassembling. The room was far too quiet and Spock began to appreciate Kirk's concern that Spock had been given a room to himself. 

He returned to the apartment for dinner and meditation, and did not fully explain his day to Kirk when asked how it had gone.


	12. Hearing

Spock had taken Zienn out to see San Francisco's streets. Kirk hadn't told Spock exactly why he wanted him to do that, but the excuse that Zienn needed to adapt to moving among masses of strangers was completely valid. Kirk waited to arrive until the Vulcans were certain to be absent. He poured himself a glass of wine and one for Overlander as well, but she only sipped it between glances at the three padds spread before her on the low table in front of the couch. Diagrams and fly-throughs were visible on two of them. The third had lists in timeline format, actively being updated from other locations, flashing as changes were made.

"Working hard," Kirk said, topping up his glass from the bottle.

She tilted her head back and forth as if disputing him. Her hair was mussed, growing out, sitting fuller on her head. It made her nose seem less pointy to have her hair sticking up in various places.

Kirk said, "I've assigned myself the task of asking you if it's okay if Zienn comes back here after his travels. He needs familiarity to recover." He felt he needed to sell this. "It's going to be a strain--"

"Yeah, sure." She kept her attention to the padds. "I like having a roommate."

Kirk wanted to insinuate something from that but it seemed disrespectful. Had it been any other potential target but Zienn, he'd have done it without hesitating.

"I have a question though." Her voice had become business-like. Hard. As if Kirk were in trouble even though their ranks were the same. "Is he a telepath?"

"All Vulcans are."

"Don't act like I'm an idiot. That's not what I mean. He doesn't seem to need to touch, which I thought. I thought, anyway. Was a requirement for a Vulcan."

"I don't think he needs to touch. But Spock would know better what his skills are."

"A little warning would have been nice." Her voice was clipped. She rubbed her hair around with one hand. "Fuck."

Kirk grinned. Sighed. "Worried what he's been seeing?"

"Fuck you."

Kirk laughed. It felt cleansing. "Hey. I had him in my head. I became him for several hours. I have zero secrets. I get to mock you in that case about a few stray thoughts here and there."

Her face became distorted, less angry. "You think he's okay?"

"Yes, I do. And I would know." Kirk sat down, adopted a relaxed posture. "He reached into me and disconnected the fear that had been turned around and hardwired into me. He gave me back to me. I don't have any complaints about him. He's a gentle spirit, so Spock says. Or thinks. He may have thought that, not said it."

"That's a confusion to have. Count me out." She looked down again.

Kirk forced down his grin, propped his chin on his hand. "You've been looking at him. I've seen it."

She drew her lips in, intently studied the padds. "I already told you to fuck off, didn't I?"

"Not precisely those words."

"For a Vulcan. He's cute," she said. "That's not saying much."

Kirk grinned, sipped his wine.

She stubbornly ignored him for several minutes. "He's a damn high priest, all right? What do you want?"

Kirk lifted his free hand. "Hey, whatever you've been, you know, imagining. He's already aware of it, and apparently doesn't care. Let it rest. Be yourself." 

Her eyes went wide and she tipped her head to the side. "Yeah. Sure." She pulled the larger padd closer, moved the wireframes of the Apollo around. "I looked up what a Vulcan high priest does in the Federation databanks. You know, the official databanks that Starfleet accesses for real decisions. I don't even believe half of it." She put another padd on top of the first, scrolled through the lists. "Moving souls around. Souls, Kirk." She looked up with only her eyes. "Souls."

"Spock does that too."

She stared down at her work. "I don't believe you."

Kirk shrugged. "He's from the right clan for it. And despite being half human, can still do it. He feels people die in a way you and I can't imagine. Feels their souls leave and try to find their way to the next realm."

"Fuck you."

Kirk laughed.

"And that doesn't bother you. You screw someone who can do that?"

Kirk grew serious. "What? Calm down, Overlander. What's it matter?"

"You kidding? What if he sucks your soul out. Just for the heck of it?"

"I haven't worried about that." Kirk shrugged for effect, enjoying himself. "But that's what Spock's brother did, apparently. Just for the amusement of it."

"I don't want to tell you to fuck off again or it will lose its power."

Kirk smiled inwardly. "Then don't." Kirk waited a few beats. "Cute, eh?"

She rubbed her forehead. "Fucking telepaths. Goddamn."

Kirk watched her scrolling through engineering change orders. "You are really throwing yourself into this."

"Yeah." She sat straight. "I talked to Vice Admiral Argot. It was simple, you know? Put myself on his calendar, got my five minutes. I should have done that in the first place. All this fighting with paperwork pushers."

Kirk waited. "And?"

"They are bending over backward because they're afraid if they raise the maximum allowed cyborg percentage that they will open the floodgates to voluntary modification enthusiasts. And Starfleet will be entirely half cyborg within a decade after that. They want Starfleet to remain human, or whatever, biological, or I guess I should say, naturally born biological."

Kirk sat back, cradled his wine. "I didn't realize."

"Neither did I. That's why they were keen to avoid a hearing on my case and made me an offer."

"I can see their problem."

"Yeah. So can I. Imagine that."

Kirk laughed again. "You'll make a good XO."

"For the right captain." She sighed. "Roll the big dice. See how they come up."

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock slipped into the hearing room and took a seat in the back corner away from the other observers. It had taken longer than expected to travel to HQ from the Academy. That morning he had found the rules regarding auditing courses, basically sitting in without having satisfied the prerequisites. He had decided to observe twenty minutes of each of the 3D projected lecture recordings as an aid to determining what third-year courses he should put in a request to audit.

A man in his late 40s turned his pockmarked face Spock's way. His narrowed eye lids vibrated as he stared Spock down. He turned back to the front of the room slowly, cords in his neck standing out. Kirk was not present.

The committee of three were still establishing the circumstances surrounding the events during the USS Ranger's security squad's raid of the damaged Vulcan Militant ship, entering that information into the official record. Glissen sat in a seat at a right angle to the committee bench, staring straight ahead as the facts were recited. At each break in the recitation, she was asked to acknowledge that she agreed with those facts, and she always did.

The door on the left side of the room opened and Kirk ducked inside, took the first seat beside the door on that side. He met Spock's gaze with a quick affectionate crinkling of his eyes and turned to the front of the room. He wore fashionable civilian pants and a long sleeve shirt with colored bars across the front of it. His hair had been cut, styled back with something that made it appear slightly wet. One wet curl refused to be held down, errantly flipped over his forehead. He put his thumb to his mouth and gnawed on the edge of it.

Captain Chanel, who was leading the panel, wrapped up the current portion of the hearing and lifted her gavel. Spock shifted forward as if to stand up. He stood out from rest in his steel gray academy one-piece. Chanel looked at him and after a protracted hesitation, set the gavel aside.

"There isn't usually any place in this portion of the proceeding for additional testimony," she said directly to Spock. She glanced at Kirk on the other side of the room. "But given the circumstances, we will allow for a word or two. Please note the facts have been established and are uncontested." She knitted her hands together on the high desk. "You are Spock. I am aware of that as we have met previously, but the others might not be. Cadet Spock, it appears now. Let it be entered into the record that this is the prisoner involved in the incident."

Everyone in the room shuffled suddenly to turn Spock's way. The committee, which had seemed sleepy, raised their chins and grew interested. Spock stood up with respectful slowness. "I have a question if it is allowed." At a nod, he continued. "I wondered what the purpose of this hearing and subsequent administrative action was, precisely."

The committee shifted in their seats. The others in the room made faces of confusion.

Captain Chanel adopted a tone of speaking to an alien unfamiliar with earth traditions. "The intent is to establish that rules were broken and determine the appropriate punishment for that transgression."

Spock nodded. He could feel the hot hatred from the man in the center of the observer's area. "I am aware of that. I was curious as to what end that was in service of."

Chanel sat back, acted confident. "It is in service of eliminating certain behaviors we cannot tolerate in Starfleet. We do this either by punishment that leads to dissuasion or in more blatant cases, such as this one, removing the individual from our ranks so as to avoid future problems."

"In that case, may I suggest that you may be about to make a decision in conflict with your stated goals. I am quite certain that Ensign Glissen is now far less likely to repeat the transgression and, more to the point, is far less likely than the average Starfleet officer to allow such in her vicinity. Based on my short time at the Academy and the weeks spent with her on the Ranger, I would trust her over half of my fellow Academy class to act with proper circumspection should these circumstances be repeated. I believe you would be making future similar problems more likely, rather than less by removing her, and therefore making my future service more hazardous, not less."

Chanel turned to the man on her right and a silent communication passed between them. She then turned to Kirk. 

"We seem to also have Ensign Glissen's commander here, albeit out of uniform. Do you have something to add, Mr. Kirk?"

Kirk stood up. "Spock's made the most important point, and made it more eloquently than I could. He has the most to lose of everyone here. But I'll add that learning where the fine line is between obeying your superiors day in and day out, when it saves your life multiple times, and breaking with that to obey your own values is not something anyone learns the easy way. And I agree with Spock, if you take someone out of the officers' line who has already learned that then you make a repeat of those mistakes more likely, for others as well, who need access to that hard-earned leadership."

Chanel turned to Glissen. "The ensign's record has no other black marks on it subsequent to this incident, only accolades for taking over a difficult department and exemplary performance in action."

The committee leaned together and spoke in whispers. Spock felt the man's attention again, but this time as alarmed and confused. Spock risked meeting his gaze, held it, looked away at Kirk again, who crossed through an empty row to stand beside him. He waggled his eyebrows in greeting and patted Spock's back.

Spock was pleased to see Kirk in such good spirits and had to resist showing it in his expression.

The conference between the committee members broke apart.

Chanel said, "Ensign Glissen, explain to us in your own words why what you did was wrong."

"Ma'am. It was wrong because I let myself down. I let my brother down. If you want your own brother treated well, should he become a prisoner, you have to do the same. I didn't do that."

The committee members glanced down at their respective notes. 

The Commander on the right said, "If you were to see someone mistreating a prisoner now, even if it were someone several ranks above you, what would you do?"

"I'd give them what-for, Sir. It's not right to fight someone who can't fight back. There's fair and there's unfair. You might have been fighting to kill an hour before, but the rules change when someone is helpless."

They committee leaned together again, debated many long minutes before breaking apart again. Every face sat soberly at their place.

Chanel sat forward. "Given your performance review and award of valor obtained after the incident we are going to strip you of officer rank for six months of duty on Supply Base Beta. At that time your commission will be re-evaluated. This hearing is now closed." The gavel banged.

Kirk gave a wry smile and turned to Spock. "That was as good as it was going to get. You did that well, my friend."

Captain Chanel came around the desk and down the aisle beside them. She held out a hand to Kirk who shook it.

Spock stood at attention, nodded.

"Good to see you in uniform, Cadet. And you are out of uniform, Kirk."

"I'm tangled up in some administrative issues."

"Who'd you tell off this time?"

"If only it were so simple."

"Let me buy you a drink. I want to hear it." She turned. "But I think someone else wants to say something."

The man from the center of the of the visitor's area was standing behind Chanel, shifting from one foot to the other.

"You must be Glissen's guardian," Kirk said.

"I'm her uncle."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Kirk said.

The man glared at Spock, looked back at Kirk. "I don't take kindly to aliens usually, but this one helped my girl. I'm guessing pulled her out of the fat, in fact."

Kirk swallowed loud enough for Spock to hear. "Glissen and Spock are both on their own journeys. He wouldn't have said what he did if he didn't believe in it."

"Well. I think it pulled her out of the fat." He looked over her shoulder. Glissen was at the front standing at attention, waiting. 

Kirk glanced her way, stepped over there with tentative movements lacking the forceful purpose he used to have.

"Glissen," Kirk said. "You'll do fine at the depot. It's a tough place only because a lot of people don't want to be there. But it's not difficult duty. Keep to yourself and you'll be fine. Six months won't take that long. And, if I have a ship, and an opening, I'd be pleased to have you."

"Thank you, sir. What happened to you, sir? If I may ask."

"Long story."

"Are you getting your commission back? How could they take it away from you of all people?"

Kirk smiled but Spock thought it looked false. "I appreciate your cheerleading, but I was willing to lose everything to get something done, and I did get that done. Now comes the job of getting everything back."

"Thank you for coming to the hearing, Commander." 

"No one's commander at the moment, but you're welcome."

Glissen turned to Spock who stood apart, hands behind his back. She nodded as if acknowledging a fellow officer. Spock nodded back.

Chanel came up behind Kirk, put a hand on his shoulder. "Drinks. I need to hear this whole story."

Kirk put on a cute air. "You just heard all I'm going to say."

"Yeah. You think. Come along. Your cadet friend too."


	13. Captain Charisma

The three of them sat in a half-moon shaped booth in a noisy bar ten blocks from Starfleet, far enough there wasn't any other fleet in the bar. Kirk had already finished his first drink and was trying to take the second one slower. Spock sat in silence, eyes never leaving Captain Chanel beside him who had insisted on splitting the two of them up by sitting in the middle. Close up, her eye shadow and heavy blusher seemed designed to accent her mischievous expression. Her blonde hair looked natural but the wide curl that was artfully combed out of her bun had the shine of rejuvenated youth.

"For the record, my boyfriend gets jealous easily," Kirk said between sips.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that and a lot of other things. I don't underestimate him, believe me. For his admission interview, I thought he was interviewing me. How is Academy treating you, Cadet?"

"Required courses have not yet commenced. I will have a better evaluation at that time."

Chanel turned to Kirk. "Is he always like this?"

Kirk squinted his eyes affectionately at Spock. "He is."

Chanel took a gulp of her hot pink beverage. "I can't tell if I'm getting a simple cold shoulder or a royal fuck off here."

"Just the normal cold shoulder with a touch of wariness."

Spock stiffened.

Kirk said, "Now you've got him worried. Ambassador's son trained from birth to not give an incorrect impression."

"I like him, either way. Too many kiss ups these days. And this one takes his hits and comes back with rational compassion. I don't know where you dug him up, but I like him. Probably too much. Makes the rest of the lot look like a bunch of underaged dilithum miners suffering metal poisoning."

She took another healthy swig and leaned toward Kirk. "But your Cadet here isn't what we're here about. I want to know what the hell happened."

Kirk sipped his beer, stalled.

Chanel said, "Come on, Kirk. This is your old Academy instructor asking." She waited a beat, went on, "Come on. One minute the Potemkin goes out without orders, there are crazy rumors flying about that. She gets in a tussle with your ship. Next thing, Pritchard has come down on you hard and you are stripped of command and you weren't even on your ship." She took a gulp of her drink, smacked her red apple lips. "Your ship wasn't supposed to be out, so they can't say you were AWOL. What are they saying? To you? They aren't saying anything to us."

Kirk looked over at Spock, who was staring down at his clasped hands. Kirk longed to touch him, but couldn't reach him.

Kirk lowered his voice, "For the record, off the record, it's Coyran who is issuing orders. And in short, they are overreacting now to make up for when they failed to react earlier. That always makes any commander behave out of proportion."

"What'd you do wrong?"

Kirk sighed. "For once, nothing. I'm just suspect. It's reasonable that I am. I just haven't figured out how to work around it."

"What's wrong with your friend?" She hadn't appeared to be paying attention to Spock, but she turned to him now. Spock was still staring down at his clasped hands.

Kirk frowned. He wished he and Spock were somewhere alone, but he also felt drawn to Chanel's understanding of how Starfleet worked. He still had some hope, but it was the kind that pained him if he gave it too much light and air.

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock raised his gaze. He had hold of his emotions from what Kirk could see, but it appeared to be an active effort.

"Everything's okay," Kirk said gently.

"It is not," Spock quietly replied, completely devoid of emotion.

"That sounds like guilt," Chanel said. "What are you feeling guilty about, Cadet?"

"Am I required to answer?" Spock asked, sounding distant.

"Hell no," Kirk said.

"He's out ranked."

"He's not in your line. And, you aren't a mental health professional, nor has he requested help from you. So, no, you don't have to answer, Spock."

"Ah, James by-the-book Kirk. Whatever happened to that cadet I knew so long ago?"

"He was a foolish ruse."

"Yeah? Too bad I didn't know that at the time. You going to tell me your story or not?"

"What are you doing still teaching, Captain?" Kirk said.

"Touché."

She leaned over to Spock, gestured at Kirk. "So, the big question: how is he in bed?"

"Don't answer that. That is an inappropriate question," Kirk said.

"Going to report me, former Lt. Commander Kirk?"

Kirk indicated Spock with a tip of his chin. "He can."

She turned to Spock and waited with a questioning expression, sipped her drink through the straw.

Kirk said, "Spock, this is an important lesson in the hardships of the Starfleet lifecycle. This is what happens if someone who should be in space stays around here too long. We've put him in the middle. This isn't fair to him."

"He's learning, like you said. He might as well do so quickly. He's got the most potential I've seen since I've been doing interviews. Bar none. He's intelligent, and already tested and proved, and he's well put together. And I don't just mean physically."

Kirk raised a brow at her, glanced at Spock to see the effects of that.

Chanel went on, "Middle of his interview, he argued with me but in that articulate calm way of his, making it impossible to take offense. Guards his emotions, but not enough to make him difficult to work with." She nudged Spock, "You, my boy, are going places."

"I would prefer to do so with James."

"Yeah.” Chanel leaned into Spock, who remained put, despite the contact. She conspiratorially narrowed her eyes. "I'm trying to help him out, but I don't know what's going on and he won't tell me."

Kirk took a deep breath. "Fine. I'm out of commission because I'm not trusted. I got attacked by the same Vulcan that made Garrovick attack Vulcan."

"Okay." She frowned in a way that made crinkles appear. "Of all the rumors to be true . . ."

Kirk looked away.

Chanel said, "So Garrovick wasn't himself. He's in the loony lockup. No one expects him to emerge for a while. You, however, Kirk, are free to move around."

"I am. I acted to counter his attack. That's probably in my favor. I came in when called like a loyal beaten puppy and took my licks, probably also in my favor. I passed an A-3, which I don't think I was expected to." Kirk swallowed hard.

"Ouch. Them thinking you needed one is bad enough." She pushed her drink from hand to hand, stared at the frosted glass. "Then there is the point where the rumors get more complicated and harder to believe. What happened on the Potemkin? Where were you?"

Kirk said, "Gave chase on a private vessel, helped Graham disable the Potemkin's collar shielding so the Ranger could disable her. But Potemkin managed to manually launch a torpedo. That was it for the Ranger."

"They halted and affected a rescue."

"They didn't wait for a command from Garrovick to do that. Ship command chain broke down at the point the Ranger was blown apart. Half the crew did what was normal, which in that circumstance, I suppose, was mutiny."

"What a mess." Chanel said, "Then you show up demanding to see your crew."

"You've been following this closely."

"I've been interested. Rumors have been crazy and I like a front row seat to what's going on out there. Crazier the better when you're stuck here. One wild rumor has it you were covered in Vulcan blood."

"Not a rumor."

She gave a hiss through her teeth. "Maybe you are beyond help then. How'd that come to be?"

Kirk looked across at Spock, who still appeared calm, but it was the kind of calm that could be masking all sorts of stress. "You all right?" Kirk asked him, at the risk of doing so in front of Chanel.

"Yes." Spock turned to Chanel. "James is stalling for my sake. He had killed my brother, that is why he was bloody."

She turned back to Kirk, brows high.

Kirk slipped out of the booth and in the other side beside Spock. He couldn't care about Chanel, just had to get to Spock.

"I am quite all right," Spock said.

Kirk sighed. "You don't speak so bluntly when you're all right."

Chanel waved for another drink and swigged the one she had. "Maybe he's upset that you killed his brother."

"I doubt that."

Spock said, "I am relieved he is gone. He wanted Vulcan destroyed simply to get back at our father for exiling him, which he had no choice but to do."

"Oh, your brother is this rogue Vulcan. Was." She accepted her fresh drink. "Right. This is more complicated than I imagined." She took a big drink, smacked her lips. "Okay, Kirk. Listen up."

Kirk put a hand around Spock's hand, could feel Spock's emotions retract, feel him steadying himself.

"That is truly not necessary," Spock said.

"Let me anyway." Kirk turned to Chanel, tried to draw on her intention, her planning.

"When's your hearing?"

"They haven't scheduled one."

Chanel sounded impatient. "When are they expected to schedule one?"

"They left it up to me."

"Here we are. Now I get it.” She put her drink down hard. “You're giving up, aren't you? Word of advice, it's the beginning of the end to do that."

"Speaking from experience?"

"You know damn well I am."

Kirk held Spock's hand tighter. "I won. And for the first time in my life I feel like I'm tempting fate asking for more than that one very difficult thing to work out right."

"Shut up a minute and listen. First step, pin them down to a date to schedule a hearing. Don't let them bury you. Step two, make sure it's an open hearing. I'll be there."

"I won't survive an open hearing. Starfleet has in hand a tape of me being mind raped, screaming. And even after it's over, I keep screaming."

Spock’s hand flinched. Kirk tightened his grip.

"You think your best chance is a closed hearing? That's a different spin. Let me think about this." She sipped her drink, moved her ruby red lips around the straw. "You are still free, in part, because you are still Starfleet's darling. That hasn't changed." She stared off into space. "Closed hearing. I don't know anyone who's come out of a closed hearing still in 'Fleet. You have a lawyer?"

"Not at the moment."

"Find one. Argue that if it's a closed hearing they should let you pick more than half the committee, with their final approval, of course. Pick me."

"Commodore Stone is around. But he won't be for long."

"Yes, now you are thinking. Should be a five member panel. I'll think of who else. Get a lawyer. And you, Cadet, my orders to you are to get him to stop feeling sorry for himself. That's his real trouble. He doesn't manage that, he's done." She slid around and out of the booth, downed her nearly full drink, banged the empty glass on the table. "I didn't hear you acknowledge those orders, Cadet."

"Yes, Captain."

"That's more like it. You taking my Advanced Ship Design special course?"

"That is a post-graduate extension course."

"Who cares. Sign up. I want to see you in my class. Kirk, buck the hell up, or curl up and die. Remember that? Embrace it. You too, Cadet."

Kirk forced down a pained smile. "Captain."

She shook her head. "Kids today." And departed.

Kirk gave Spock's hand a last squeeze and let go. He tipped his head back. He felt drained. 

Spock said, "Am I required to take her course?"

Kirk laughed. "Yes. She ordered you to."

"It seems probable that you are lying to me."

"Spock, I told you the rules. You are bound by the orders of the officers of the Academy. She can't order you to answer out of line personal questions. She isn't even allowed to ask them. But she can certainly order you to take a course. Don't you want to? Seemed to me watching you look through the catalog that you weren't particularly impressed with your options."

"I would be very interested in the contents of such a course."

Kirk took hold of Spock’s thigh, squeezed possessively. "Ah. She'll be toned down when actually teaching. Mostly toned down. It's just an attitude that keeps her sane by pushing the limits to experience a sense of risk. And a lot of the young cadets love it since every other part of their day represents discipline for the sake of discipline."

"Did you appreciate it?"

Kirk resisted thinking back to his own experience. Spock was about to embark on something increasingly out of reach for Kirk and he felt on the verge of resentment. He shrugged. “Things get too serious around the Academy. But you'd be her pet. It will be a challenge more for you in that vein." Kirk let his hand move an inch higher on Spock’s thigh.

"I do not understand."

"The returning ensigns and lieutenants in that class who have been out for three years prototyping systems on ships are going to expect to get her attention and she'll put it all on you, who will be shunning it. It will drive them mad." 

"The emotional conflict of her class is the sort of thing you insist I experience? For three years?"

"If you can survive it, you can do anything."

"Humans are illogical."

Kirk moved his hand so his fingertips were in the fold of Spock’s pants at his groin. The solid presence of Spock faithfully beside him made Kirk long to touch him all over, reassure himself. "We are. But that's beside the point.”

Kirk sank back into a slouch, slid his hand back to Spock’s knee. "You did well today. I'm proud of you all over again." Kirk blinked back the heat from his eyes. "But you know what I need," Kirk squeezed Spock’s knee, hard. "I need to get you alone somewhere, which we haven't been in a very long time. It's pathetic to even ask, but what's the odds your roommate isn't around?"

"I do not have a roommate."

Kirk pulled on Spock’s leg to sit forward, spoke angrily. "You got a single? You're a First Year with no extra duties."

"My room assignment was marked with a code that I researched to mean I was required to have special privacy."

"That's ridiculous. What do they expect you to do on a ship as a nub?  You could be hot racking in a cabin of 12."

Spock raised a brow. "Were you not just now hoping that I did not have a roommate present?"

Kirk's body responded to the thought of them being alone, sidetracked his anger. "Ah. Yes. I was. But still."


	14. Hunger

On the walk over to the dormitory, Kirk was grateful for his fashionable civilian clothes. His ego was having a hard enough time with the idea of taking a cadet to a dorm room. Being recognized doing so might have done him in.

Inside the room, Kirk hit the privacy lock and pushed Spock back against the closed door. He rocked up on his toes and found Spock's lips with his own, concentrated on the dry feel of them, the alien taste of them. He longed to take possession of the lean feel of Spock, the smell of Spock, and be pulled out from the inside of his own head, which was slowly wearing him down.

Spock's arms went around him, grasping. Kirk put his hands on the sides of Spock's face. "Hey. Easy there."

They stared at each other. Spock's eyes were intense.

"You okay?" Kirk asked.

"For a time I did not expect to arrive at this place again."

"I take it you don't mean your dorm room." Kirk stroked Spock's face with both hands, embedded his fingers in his hair.

Spock’s voice was a whisper. "I do wish things were different."

Kirk felt a pang of deep understanding, argued with himself as much as Spock when he said, "You can't wish like that your whole life."

Spock dropped his eyes. His hands stroked up and down Kirk’s back. "Understood."

"And I want you. Quite badly."

Kirk pressed their bodies together, felt Spock's lean hip through his sheer uniform. Kirk shifted his groin to the hollow beside Spock's hip bone so his rising erection pressed against soft flesh. He caught Spock's mouth again, pulled Spock's head down to more easily reach upward with his tongue. Spock's hands moved over Kirk's back, clutching at him. His breath came fast across Kirk's face when their mouths changed direction.

Kirk fumbled for the seam at Spock's throat, unsealed his uniform, pushed it down his arms. Spock didn't immediately let go of Kirk to allow the uniform to slide farther down his body.

Kirk pulled back. "I need to get you out of that. My pride is having a hard enough time as it is."

Spock dropped his arms. Kirk slid the one-piece uniform down and off. He hooked it with his foot so Spock could step clear of it. Kirk stepped close again and slid his hands inside Spock's black briefs, cupped his bare ass. He brought his right hand around inside the briefs, traced Spock's penis with his middle finger, up and down, grasped it and held it. He kissed him again, fist crushed between them. Spock seemed less attentive to this kiss, which Kirk found touching and amusing. Kirk pulled back, stroked Spock with intentional patience, tugging insistently on the distended, but not erect, organ at the end of each stroke. Spock stared down at the floor, parted his lips.

Kirk's erection strained inside his heavy civilian pants, behind a heavy clasp and fly. Stiff, overly tailored clothing was in style right now. Kirk felt armored by it, but now it was a barrier. Kirk released Spock and reached down and unhooked his pants, let them fall open, tugged his briefs down under his balls, pressed himself against Spock again to let their swollen organs touch. Spock jumped, raised his eyes, which were shining and alert.

Kirk grasped Spock’s body more firmly. "I like that reaction." He shifted his hips, manipulated Spock’s half erection with his own full one, flipping Spock from side to side, lifting him. The contact made Spock quiver.

"I need you,” Kirk said.

"There is no limit on what you may do with me."

Kirk suspected that was guilt talking, but Spock had said nearly the same several times before.

"Do you have any oil?" It made Kirk's cock ache more to hear his own hungry voice.

Spock tipped his head to gesture. "The bathroom was stocked when I moved in. I believe for off-world arrivals who cannot transport much in the way of personal goods."

Kirk gave a last tug on Spock's half erection. He shed his pants as he walked to the bathroom in the corner of the room, shed his shirt on the way back.

Spock stood in the middle of the room, lithe and tall. Taller than Kirk remembered. Fully naked, he still stood with a noble dignity that was lacking when he was around others.

Kirk set the bottle down and rubbed his hands up Spock's ribs, around his back. This was his. Not much was, but this was.

Spock's hands came around him as well, not grasping or rubbing, just sensing him. Kirk pulled their hips together, rocked them together gently forward and back.

"Your need is akin to hunger," Spock said.

“It’s been a while.” Kirk urged their hips apart, shifted Spock toward the bunk. Spock allowed himself to be steered at will.

Kirk directed him to his hands and knees, was shaking as he did this. He shook with need and with nerves. Spock was everything to him. And right now he needed to prove how much Spock was his, needed it like he needed air. He ran his hand over Spock’s spine, he wondered at this compulsion, needed to understand it before giving into it.

Spock lowered himself onto his side on the bunk, shifted his hips and rolled to his back, one leg canted wide as if to display his swollen organs.

“James?”

Kirk sat beside him, barely hitched on the edge of the narrow bunk. He ran a hand down Spock’s furred chest to his genitals, stroked along his inner thigh to his knee, reversed direction. Spock waited with patience through this process.

Kirk bit his lips. “I need you too much.” He breathed more heavily from speaking this aloud.

Spock reached for the oil over his shoulder at the corner of the bunk and sat forward. He filled his palm and grasped Kirk, stroked the oil onto him with efficient movements.

“I can feel your need. And your reluctance,” Spock said. “I do not know why you hold back. I am highly resilient.”

“I just always have. It’s strange to remember that distinctly but also to distinctly just want you now.” Kirk looked away from Spock’s warm brown eyes. “I was someone else before. This James Kirk aches to fuck you silly.”

Spock sighed, raised both brows. “I am a touch telepath and therefore quite aware of that.”

Kirk climbed over Spock, knees in the small available spaces. He pressed his body down onto him, put his hand behind Spock’s neck and lifted his head into a rough kiss.

Kirk broke off the kiss. “This James Kirk needs to take from you. Not give. You don’t mind that?”

“Right here. Now. No, I do not.”

Kirk looked down at their bodies fitted together, looked Spock in the eye. “It’s dangerous to believe you deserve something.”

“You are resentful,” Spock said, voice quiet.

“I am. I’m proud of you and resentful of you. Isn’t that stupid?” Kirk’s eyes burned again.

Spock’s hands rubbed Kirk’s upper arms. “You had a great deal taken away from you.”

“I gave it away. I got something in return.” The tightness in Kirk’s chest eased. “I used to not have trouble remembering that.”

Spock’s hand stroked Kirk’s cheek. “James. Everything I have is yours. Freely given.”

Kirk had looked away in a bid for stability. He met Spock’s gaze, which was steady. Kirk shifted to lean more heavily on Spock, rest their chests against each other.

Spock stroked Kirk’s cheek. “I have only sensed resentment from you one time before. When you were quite exhausted and hungry and you had just discovered my family possessed an intersystem-worthy private vessel.”

Kirk smiled painfully. His neck was straining. He rolled to the side and leaned his head on his hand. “You noticed that.”

“I was observing you very closely due to the great uncertainty I had about you. I have no uncertainty about you now. Even if you do. But I am concerned about your future potential for guilt.”

“You want to make sure I’m not going to fuck you out of resentment?”

“Correct.”

Kirk’s erection was pinned between his and Spock’s thighs. It throbbed when he thought about it there.

“I have a suggestion,” Spock said. “Perhaps round two, when you are less needful.”

Kirk smiled painfully again. “I don’t deserve you.”

Spock pushed their hips apart, which rolled Kirk fully onto his side. Kirk closed his eyes, let Spock lead, which he did with efficiency of movement.

Spock slid down the bunk and put his mouth over Kirk. Kirk grabbed the pillow before him, clutched it as he was stroked and swallowed. The oil warmed and muted the sensations of tongue and lips. Kirk imagined Spock bent over before him, imagined pushing himself into Spock, slapping their bodies together. His hips shifted in time to his imagining and Spock moved with him, then countered him, letting him thrust into his mouth.

Kirk’s orgasm was shallow and long. Spock’s fingers clutched his hip, stroked his shaft, until he was soft and empty.

Kirk shifted his shoulders over to rest on his back. Spock climbed up his body, draped himself and a blanket over him. Kirk put his hands on Spock’s ribcage, waited until he settled his head on the pillow beside him.

“I still want you,” Kirk said, thinking ahead to an hour from now, maybe as little as half an hour. He wondered if this hunger could be filled at all. Spock attentions hadn’t touched it.

Spock said, “I won’t allow you to do anything for me.”

“Won’t allow? You’re going to insist I be selfish. You’re going to let me be resentful.”

“Yes.” Spock rose up beside him, traced Kirk’s eyebrow with a finger, studied him at length as if he were a sample of something.

Kirk said, “I need to get my life back.” But he felt more bereft saying this. Speaking it made it less likely. He knew that from watching others.

“Being here like this is not pleasing you,” Spock said.

“No, it’s pleasing me a lot. In one way.” He stroked Spock’s back, stroked his hair. “You aren’t the problem.” He looked up at the ceiling instead of at Spock’s elegant features.

Spock’s hand grasped Kirk’s spent penis, squeezed it. “I have been ordered to not allow you to feel sorry for yourself.”

Kirk closed his eyes, focused on Spock’s hand cradling his overly sensitive organ. A kiss fell on his eyebrow, then on his forehead. It hurt more that Spock was trying so hard.

Spock said, “I am not doing the correct things.”

Kirk wanted to say, I just need time, it will be all right. But continuing to believe that was part of his being stuck. Inside him was only a straining need and uncertainty.

“I still want you,” Kirk said, tightening an arm around Spock.

Spock’s hand cupped his genitals more aggressively. Kirk bent his knee to give him better access, closed his eyes again. There was no place in the universe he could desire to be more than here right now. He held fast to that, settled back on the bed more comfortably. Spock settled beside him again so that the breath leaving his nose tickled Kirk’s cheek, drifted over his neck. Spock’s hand slowly moved over him, all of him, pausing to feel a spot in detail, moved on. Every time Kirk fantasized about Spock beneath him, the hand moved to his soft organs, grasped them.

They both rested on the pillow, bodies lax. On the next circuit of Spock’s touch, Kirk’s penis rose up, filled Spock’s hand. Spock raised his head to peer down at Kirk. His fingers had grown knowing and bold. Kirk felt dissected and possessed and wanted to be even more so. Spock reached for the oil again, stroked Kirk with it.

Kirk’s heart beat faster, Spock paused as if listening to it. He bent his head and kissed Kirk in the center of his chest.

Spock said, “I estimate that you are recovered enough for additional sex.”

Kirk tried to hold back a smile. “Not hard to estimate.”

“You are quite needful again. Or perhaps still.”

Kirk sat up, kissed Spock on the shoulder. “I need to possess you as a way of possessing what you have.”

“Will that make you feel better?”

Kirk stroked Spock’s pectoral muscle, teased a nipple. “I hope so.”

“I give myself to you,” Spock said, voice reverent.

Kirk rose up out of the way. Spock shifted to get on his hands and knees on the bunk. Kirk drifted a hand down his back, put a knee on the bunk. Spock’s back domed upward, lean and beautiful, every muscle standing out in detail, his spine rising higher than his muscles. The indentations beside his spine led to small hollows at his lower back, led to the tight roundness of his ass, which came to exquisite points when he bent over farther. Kirk ran his palm over the left point of Spock’s buttock, cupped it, slid his palm over it.

Spock shifted back against him, touched back against Kirk's thigh. Kirk got directly behind him, wrapped himself around lean muscle, pressed his bunched up abdomen to Spock's domed back, pressed his balls and erection against Spock's tailbone. Spock easily took Kirk's weight, didn't shift sideways or bend his back. He was alien levels of wiry, fleshy solidity.

Kirk reached a trembling hand around Spock's abdomen, found the tip of Spock's cock peeking out from between Spock's thighs. Spock shifted one knee, freed it. Kirk held it, felt it twitch. He squeezed it, felt it twitch more insistently. His own cock twitched against Spock’s knobbly tailbone, but he denied it, remained as he was. He kissed Spock’s shoulder, kissed his neck, kissed his shoulder blade. As he moved around, Spock bore him effortlessly.

Kirk slid backward until his full weight was on his knees. His heart was pounding in his ears. His cock was weeping, leaving a trail of fluid. He blindly lined his cock up and pushed inward, sheathing himself in two oily pushes. Spock sharply caught his breath, Kirk feared it was pain, but he felt at that same moment a tweak of unbearable pleasure through their skin contact.

Spock exhaled some Vulcan words.

Spock dropped his head to the bed, shifted backward, curled up. Kirk pushed their paired bodies forward again, put his hands on Spock's hips, slid his shaking hands down the sides of his thighs. Spock straightened his arms again, back heaving as he breathed.

Kirk pushed his hips forward until they were both as upright as possible, slid out and in again. Spock made more acute sound of distress and again, Kirk felt a stab of intense pleasure, the kind that made one squirm both away and closer to the source of it.

"I think-- Let me--" Kirk said. He leaned forward, aimed downward as he slid in again.

Spock arched violently, slipped free of Kirk. He slid down hard flat on the bed, elbows pointed upward. He lay that way, shivering.

Kirk put a knee up beside him and bent over him. Petted his hair. “You okay?” Kirk was grinning as he spoke. He felt shuddering waves of pleasure from Spock as he touched him, not distress.

“I do not know what is happening.” Spock sounded annoyed.

“I think it’s your prostate. Vulcans have one?”

From the side, Kirk could see Spock’s brow furrow. “Yes.”

Kirk rubbed a hand over Spock’s left buttock, cupped it in his hand. “Some people really get off on having it stimulated.”

Spock put his forehead directly into the pillow. “Stimulated is an insufficient term. The pleasure is unbearable.”

Kirk smiled. “Right.”

Spock rolled over onto his back beneath Kirk. His penis stood up between them, green tinged and straining. “I cannot,” Spock said, swallowed hard.

Kirk said, “Too much?”

Spock reached up a shaking hand. “I am need. I perhaps must go back on my earlier word.”

Kirk balanced on one hand and stroked Spock’s rippled abdomen with the backs of his fingers.

Spock tossed his head to the side. “Please.” His chest heaved, then stopped as he held his breath in. His eyes closed. He could have been meditating, but his body, half twisted on the bed, sheet bunching beneath him from being pulled, was a vision of tightly wound need.

Kirk lowered his hips, rested his thighs on Spock’s shins. He moved slowly, stroked fingertips over Spock’s hip bone, stroked the soft flesh at the edge of his pubic hair, touched everything around the straining penis reaching toward him. A puff of air escaped Spock’s lips. He shifted his hips to try to shift the target of Kirk’s touch.

“My need risks overcoming me.” Spock sounded oddly factual. “I feel it more deeply than previous times. James, I cannot risk hurting you.”

Kirk rocked forward, put his mouth over Spock’s glans, which was full and inflexible. Spock lifted his hips. Kirk rose with him, pulled off. He wasn’t ready to relinquish this elated feeling of control. Kirk licked, ran just the tip of his tongue up and down. Spock grew more still, held his breath longer between airy sounds of desperation.

Kirk ringed his fingers, slid them slowly down Spock’s shaft, back up again. He paused, studied the tableau before him. He slid his finger down him again and held the base, ran his tongue up the underside. Spock’s shaft jetted under Kirk’s fingers, a real ejaculation, not the usual few reserved droplets. Spock’s body went rigid, torqued sideways and held that way like steel. Kirk gave in and stroked him, heard Spock whimper, sensed Spock’s hunger in his own body and stroked faster. Spock came again, his body torqued farther, muscles standing out. Kirk switched hands to keep the pace. A third jetting and Spock’s body began to unwind, relax flat.

Kirk pushed Spock’s right leg over to keep him on his side. He pushed that leg up farther still, almost to Spock’s chest. Spock’s trembling had faded and he and had a sleepy limpness to his limbs. Kirk’s cock throbbed. He lowered his hips behind Spock’s bent leg, and with some feeling around pushed inside. He shoved but could only get half way in this position. Spock’s body rocked in place as he shoved, completely lax.

Kirk’s heart twisted in alarm, began to throb. “You still awake?”

“Yes, James.” He cracked an eye sideways at Kirk. “You may have me anytime, awake or not. Do you wish to change positions?”

“No, you rest.” Kirk shoved again, pushed Spock’s leg tighter to his chest, got in a little farther. He worked it, sliding in and out just enough to feel the movement, but not to risk falling out. Spock’s body remained lax, radiated a pleasant lethargy, a giving openness of his physical self which Kirk knew was only for him.

Kirk approached orgasm several times but could not quite reach it. He spread his knees more and sat back. He was straddling Spock’s straight leg, his balls brushed the long hair on the inside of Spock’s thigh. He stroked himself, brought himself close, pushed into the space between Spock’s testicles and thigh and came into that warm soft pressure on his glans, stroked himself until he was empty.

Kirk rubbed Spock’s hip, his buttock, squeezed possessively. He wished he could get hard again right away.

Spock shifted lazily on the bed to a more comfortable position, rested a hand on Kirk’s thigh. “You are still not satisfied.”

“At least you are.” Kirk waggled his eyebrows. “Found the key to you.”

Spock’s cheeks and ears flushed green. He nodded, looked away. “Indeed.”


	15. Message

Spock sat before a large padd, flipping through page after page of dense content. Kirk counted the seconds, ten, between page swipes. The two of them sat in an open bright lounge area at the Academy. The dim natural light was supplemented by colored lights in the frames of the overhead windows. The wide passing corridor was quiet, which Kirk was grateful for. He envisioned himself well beyond this place, even as much as he felt hopeful and happy for Spock to be here and was willing to keep him company.

"New padd?"

"I needed a unit I could take apart to avoid doing so to my Academy assigned one."

The padd looked heavier than most at the edges, with lots of pop-outs for additional plugs or controls. It looked gratuitously expensive. Kirk wondered why that bothered him, but it did. Kirk looked away out the windows. They sat at second-story level, looking out at the narrow, complicated gaps and concrete supports between the Academy buildings. He pulled himself back to the present, concentrated on Spock.

Kirk said, "Did you answer your mother's message from this morning? I didn't hear you record one."

"I did while you were out for a run."

"Did she seem to be doing okay to you? She sounded worried. Not necessarily about your father, who seems to be doing well from what it sounded like, but worried in general."

"She often has concerns."

"I saw in the feeds that your dad's mother took a seat on the Federation Council. There was a bit of a ceremony, which she seemed less than impressed with."

"I suspect she was less than impressed with the need for it."

"Maybe." Kirk knitted his hands together. "Too bad your father couldn't be there. It's important, and more than symbolically. Especially with the close call we just had."

Spock nodded distractedly, kept paging. "Hopefully it is the beginning of better cooperation and communication."

"What are you reading with such intent? Looks like a tech manual on conduit layout."

"I wrote code to interleave and codify all of the design criteria Starfleet has submitted to their contractors in the last twenty years alongside the actual results of particular design decisions implemented on the most recent ships." Spock shook his head. "My code could use some modification, but it is useful for generating an overview and an index to possible relevant documents. I should have taken the time to make it adaptive." Spock flipped to the index, scrolled that. "It turns out that the primary design limitations of a ship are its conduits for air, power and fluids, and maintenance access. Even structural issues must bend for it."

"You're taking this seriously."

Spock shook his head. "I am. Very. Unqualified for this course I am required to take."

Kirk smiled, tried to make it look extra affectionate. "It's good for you to be challenged."

"Challenged is what I hope to become. At this time I am hopelessly out of my depth." Spock expanded a complicated diagram running a simulation of moving fluids and where they might be bottlenecked or subject to damage from regular maintenance. He sighed. "I continue to consider ways to optimize my code. Rather than absorbing more of the content."

Kirk leaned forward. "What other topics do you need to cover before the course starts?"

"Structural material fabrication in situ, superstructure design, material fatigue. That will also be useful for learning about ship skin."

"Skin is usually an afterthought. It gets pulled on and off all the time for repairs, gets replaced in the field with whatever is available."

Spock nodded. "Good to know. I will reserve that topic for last."

"What about the interior design, for the beings living inside the ship?"

Spock didn't speak right away. "Yes."

A Starfleet lieutenant with an Academy insignia on his breast approached, stopped beside them. "Cadet Spock. I have a few tasks for you."

Kirk looked up at the stern human with short sandy hair and coarse skin, then over at Spock, who was standing up. "You in trouble all ready?"

Spock nodded. Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed. Tried to be serious. "Lieutenant," Kirk said, also standing. 

The officer was considering Kirk, looked him up and down. "There are limitations on civilian guests, Cadet."

"The manual does not state specific time limits," Spock said. "Except with regard to overnight stays, which are to be kept to one night a week. Meetings in public areas are unlimited per the Academy manual section forty six paragraph nine. Assuming they are not causing a disruption to normal Academy functions."

Kirk held up his hands. The Lieutenant was getting that thinking of more creatively annoying tasks expression. "Stop, Spock. I'll see you later at the apartment."

As they walked off, Kirk called after, "Go easy on him." 

The two of them turned. The lieutenant's eyes were fixed in an annoyed squint. 

"I was talking to Spock," Kirk said.

\-------- 8888 --------

Lt. Grange still held himself like a man who needed a proper rest, but Spock had learned that mentioning such to a superior was highly unwelcome. They arrived in a long office down a quiet side corridor, it and the adjoining rooms had been cut out of some larger awkward space. There was no one else about.

"Since you were actually quite helpful last time, I thought you'd be perfect for this. We need to reprogram the Academy Advice Node on the student assigned padds. It used to be an AI, but there was a concerted effort to distort its advice by quite a number of students, so it was reverted to an edited feed. That was done in a rush before it could become a scandal. You can barely search it it's so limited. I'll give you some computing power to try and build something better. Think you can handle it? I get the sense you do computing. Is that right or am I skirting some kind of offensive profiling of your race?"

"You have access to my test scores, do you not, sir?"

"I'm too lazy to look at them. And everyone's are high. That doesn't mean they can get something done."

"I see. Yes. Computing is my specialty, but I am trying to get away from that topic and into engineering."

"Fine. Just don't get into engineering today. I have an old intern's account I can give you." He credentialed Spock on the system terminal.

"This is highly insecure. I see how past students have had such an easy time hacking in."

"This system is more secure than it looks. This is a test machine alone on a lab stub, not connected except through a very restricted router with a copy of the relevant databanks. If what you put together looks okay, I'll have one of the techs look at it and move it across to the live system." He put his hands on his hips. "You approve?"

"That is better than it appeared at first."

"Yeah, watch your assumptions. In general. Cadet."

Spock reviewed the available data. There were four legacy systems on the machine along with their datasets. The systems all appear to have broken down under use, from skewing of the rulesets or, in the last case, devolution of the highly advanced AI personality.

Lt. Grange went away for two hours and returned. "Progress?" He sipped a coffee. "I should have asked if you wanted some."

"I do not. But your social consideration is noted."

Grange snorted. "You could out nerd a nerd, Cadet. What is that you've got up there? I don't recognize that."

"It is an advice system of twenty years ago, also based on an AI, but a less clever one that only did learning along a limited elastic matrix and then stopped and optimized from there. It appears to have been rigorously programmed but never customized for this application even though it was put in service. I am considering updating its rules and installing the newer datasets into it through an older interpreter. If that is acceptable?"

"Do you have something else to be doing?"

"I have been ordered to attend an advanced ship design extension course which begins the third week of the term. I am trying to learn enough before that time so as to not make a fool of myself. I know almost nothing about the topic."

Grange turned a chair around backwards and straddled it, leaned his chin on his arm, the backs of his hands were heavily freckled. "That's too bad. I have about a hundred things I could have you do." He considered the code on the screen. "Well, not fair to make you spend excessive time on something you would prefer not to pursue. Finish this up for me and we'll call it even." His eyes narrowed. "If you stay out of my hair after this."

Spock nodded and went back to work. Grange went in and out. 

"Progress?" the lieutenant asked three hours later.

"I have the datasets installed and am prototyping possible amendments. The older system is rather elegantly designed and I am trying to do it justice with my additions."

"You can call it a day if you like. It's past dinner time. I'm not a slave driver."

Spock raised a brow. "Human colloquialisms are most illuminating regarding human culture."

"I think that could be considered an insult."

Spock considered this for an appropriate length pause. "Could it?"

"Seems like it." Grange straddled the chair again. "You don't act like any Vulcan I've ever met. That human you are hanging with must be a bad influence. Anyone tell you that?"

"My father."

"Well, that's unlikely to make you change." Grange scratched his head. "Your friend looked a bit familiar. Would I know him?"

"I do not know."

"Former fleet?"

"No."

"Oh. Seemed like he might be." Grange stood. "Well, I'm going, so I have to kick your butt out too, send you back to your studies. But we should wrap this up tomorrow, so find me. Get through this task without any more insults or intentional trouble and we'll be finished. Okay, Cadet?" He began packing things up.

Spock logged out and stood up. At the door Grange stopped to look through the satchel as if wondering if anything was missing. 

Spock said, "Yes, sir. Though, I have found your company informative."

Grange stopped still and looked up at Spock. "Informative, eh? You know, I work hard to be highly unlikeable bordering on loatheable. Way too much trouble to be anybody's friend among the cadets."

"I see. I am learning the requisite modes of interaction I will need to participate in this institution. And I appreciate the opportunity you have provided to do so. You have been helpful, for example, with my understanding of the application of power within this organization."

Grange frowned, tilted his head. "I can't shake you, can I? A human cadet would be flustered and half useless if I ordered them away from their peers to special duty. They'd be flustered again now talking about it."

"For what reason?"

Grange shrugged. "They are overly programmed to please at all costs and authority undermines them utterly. They want to be here so badly they can't bear any risk to that, especially First Years. Do you even care that you're at Starfleet Academy?"

Spock let his brows rise. "I very much wish to be here. I have wanted to be here since I was young."

"So I'm just misreading you. Or you are just a Vulcan and unflappable."

"Or both."

Grange's brows went up. Spock identified this as a warning sign that Spock was skirting the boundary of what the lieutenant would allow.

"Well, go on, Cadet. Before I change my mind and get grumpy again."

"Yes, sir."

\-------- 8888 --------

At the apartment Kirk looked up from where he sat comfortably propped up in the softest chair. "Do I need to ask what you got into trouble for? Wait, more important, did you stay out of trouble today?"

"Barely."

Kirk grinned with a deep amusement that made his eyes glitter. "It makes me incredibly happy to hear you say that."

Spock said, "I have additional extra duty tomorrow and then I am released."

Overlander came over from the kitchen area, sipping from a mug that steamed a mint scent. "Who'd you get in trouble with?"

"Lt. Grange. He has been overseeing much of the early orientation."

She shook her head. "Don't know him."

"He is apparently intentionally offputting to keep his distance."

"I'd be an outright ogre if it were me." Overlander said. "There's leftovers if you want dinner."

Spock bowed. "Please."

She went to the kitchen and pulled a container out of the chiller. "You are always perfectly polite with me, Cadet."

"I am a guest in your house. You are my host. I have years of protocol training in this regard."

She brought the heated box over to Spock with a fork. "And the lieutenant in charge of orientation isn't your host at the Academy?"

Spock stiffened, failed to keep his alarm entirely in check.

Kirk said, "Uh oh." 

"I will have to consider this," Spock said.

\-------- 8888 --------

The next day's orientation section involved a walking tour of the campus and the public streets around the Academy in groups of eight. Older students were returning for the new year, moving in, greeting each other. Their uniforms were a darker shade, more blue. They tended to catcall or make subtly mocking or outright sarcastic comments when they spotted the touring groups of first years, who turned in surprise or outright confusion at this behavior. 

The morning tour ended at a small park where trucks were hovering over the grass to sell food. Some of the students began throwing flashing rings around, chasing long distances to catch them. Those from higher gravity worlds had a distinct advantage in running faster, loping as if supported by a wire.

"I'm not going to like being a plebe."

Spock turned, found no one else around who might be the addressee. The speaker was a male human student of Spock's height with dark brown hair and long pointed side burns. He held an ice cream cone of swirled colors, licked it as it melted.

"I believe it is temporary," Spock said.

"The harassment or being a plebe?" The man lifted and lowered his chin. "I'm Rainer."

"I am Spock."

"How do you like earth?"

"I am already familiar with it from previous visits."

"Yeah, Vulcan's not far away. I'm from Pegasi Colony near Theta Signi. My grandparents were among the first colonizers over a hundred years ago, as children. Despite that, I was glad to get away. It's pretty boring back home."

Spock was receiving a lot of information without requesting any. "I see."

"I love it here. Once you get used to the noise I see why no one goes home again." He rapidly licked the melting ice cream on all sides, swallowed. "You don't have an ice cream. It's really good. You should get some."

Spock considered how badly the cold would hurt his head. "Perhaps another time."

"Cadets." Lt. Grange stepped crisply into their midst.

"Are we going to get ragged on by upperclasses all year, sir?" Rainer asked between crunching bites of his cone.

"I would expect so," Grange said. "Toughen up and it won't bother you." He looked Spock up and down. "You appear to be rather un-occupied, Cadet."

Spock stood straighter. "Sir, your assessment fails to take into account any thinking I may be doing."

Rainer's brows went up. His eyes slid over to the lieutenant as pink and blue melted over his fingers.

Grange said. "Right. I sincerely doubt that's of any significance, Cadet. Come along."

Spock returned to the academy with Grange, waiting several times when he stopped to sort out other issues along the way.

"How long to finish?" Grange asked once they reached the the intern office.

"The advice system, sir? Three and a half hours to write a test suite using the query logs from previous years and feeding the results into a natural language processor to check for logical and factual validity. Adjusting from there until that is satisfactory. I do not know the total required time given those uncertainties."

"Well. Get to it."

Spock sat down and authenticated himself to the terminal. He had intended to apologize to the lieutenant for the difficulties he had caused earlier, but faced with the man, Spock had fallen into exactly the same behavior as before, that of provoking as close to the edge as possible. Grange seemed to just accept it as the norm, which was odd, in that Spock had instinctively expected him to do just that, even though he logically wouldn't have expected it.

Grange tapped the table as if to get Spock's attention. "I'll be back in three hours. Try not to get into more trouble while I'm gone, Okay?" This came out mocking, as if talking to an errant child.

Spock nodded soberly, with exaggerated obedience. "Yes, sir."

"That's more like it."

\-------- 8888 --------

Sgroud stood in the doorway of the apartment in prim robes of dusty brown. He bowed respectfully to Overlander who tried out her poorly pronounced Vulcan to invite him in.

"I will not take up your time. I will escort Exalted High Priest Zienn to the embassy to make arrangements for him and will bring him back in approximately three hours."

"I might not be here, and he refuses to put his handprint into the computer. But I can put in yours."

Sgroud turned to the high priest, but turned away and spoke to Overlander. "Such an attitude will make arrangements considerably more difficult."

Overlander put the sensor into record mode, indicated that he should put his hand on it. "I wouldn't want to be his travel agent."

"Spock stated that you will continue to host High Priest Zienn."

"I'm willing to have him here. I'm going to be away a lot as soon as the Apollo comes into dock. My ship," she explained. "Needs some upgrades, and a retrofit. They are backing her technology out. Turns out she wasn't fit for the warp core they tried to wedge into her."

"I see. He requested to be hosted here specifically, I am informed."

Overlander resisted glanced at Zienn where he knelt on the floor, fingers steepled before him, observing the two of them. She shrugged to avoid answering aloud.

Zienn stood in a single movement, came to the door, fingers still steepled. Sgroud spoke to him in Vulcan. Zienn took down the thigh-length field coat Overlander had loaned him previously. It wasn't Starfleet issue but it was a style popular among crew for shore leave. Over Zienn's worn robes it appeared mismatched and it compressed his robes into something resembling a heavy drop skirt.

Overlander kept the smile of amusement off her face until the door was safely closed.

\-------- 8888 --------

At the embassy Zienn followed through the active public areas to Sgroud's office.

"Has Sarek returned?" Zienn asked.

"No, he has not. He is still under a Healer's orders to remain on Vulcan. During the local business hours it is always this busy at the embassy. It's worse if there are receptions to be prepared for. That, at least, we do not have when the Ambassador is off-planet."

Sgroud worked standing up, he explained with great patience Zienn's travel arrangements and options, carefully explained concepts that would normally be easily understood.

"You depart in two days. Your return dates have been left open. I have obtained for you a human guide who is both a Buddhist monk and has spent half a year in total on Vulcan and has passing knowledge of our language. He has been made aware of your preferences regarding computing machinery and transport. He will remain with you as much as he is able. I do not know how high up your reception will be when you arrive in Tibet, but my sense while making plans has been that there is great eagerness to meet you."

Zienn accepted the printed scroll outlining his travels, put it into his pocket. "When will Sarek return?"

"We have not been informed exactly. Likely another week will pass, at a minimum."

"I have a message for Sarek, if you will pass it on for me."

"Do you want to write it down?" Sgroud asked.

"Would you prefer that I do so?"

"I inquire in case it is private. It is your choice. I put aside a stash of paper at the same time I procured what I needed for the scroll."

Zienn nodded. "I will tell you. It is easier. Sarek, Son of T'Pau needs to send his son to a temple for training in the ways of a high priest, at a minimum. Spock is highly sensitive and is wielding his abilities in ways he does not understand."

Sgroud became still. "Such as?"

"As you are aware, he is sensitive to the realm of the dead. He has in the past attempted, clumsily, to assist souls on their journey there. His vision into other realms, his capability with manipulating other realms is unprecedented for someone untrained. He creates and wields a small realm, regularly, at will. A stable one. Something I have never seen. And he has not yet reached the age where he has outgrown a natural increase in his raw abilities, so I do not know what else will emerge." Zienn straightened, locked his hands together. "The ritual tests are supposed to be performed on every child out of these families, no exceptions. Those were never performed on Spock. This situation is exactly why those rituals are to be faithfully adhered to."

"Did you test Spock?"

"It is not my place to do so. I have merely observed him. I am not a trainer of acolytes nor familiar with their rituals. I am aware of the circumstances that led to his being passed over, but this is an ancient family and such ancient tradition generally overcomes a single generation's temporary problems. As it should. It is dangerous if it does not."

Sgroud's voice became quiet. "I will pass the message on."


	16. Tour

Spock rotated his body into a seat about two thirds of the way up the tiered lecture hall. Students were settling in around him, two were walking slowly in while viewing the lectures they were supposed to have watched before the first class began.

On Spock's right sat a humanoid woman with large almond eyes, knobbly jaw line, and wispy hair halfway down her back. She had the course textbook open on her padd, she flipped through the pages with a pointed finger, back and forth. There was an empty seat on Spock's left. The instructor came in, marched to the podium and looked up at the hall with a critical eye. According to the course catalog, this would be Commander Absom, the instructor. He had a thick short tuft of white hair on top of his head, but black eyebrows, as thick and protruding as a Klingon's.

A familiar face slipped in the doorway halfway up the tiers. She held a large padd to her chest. P'Losiwst glanced with strained panic at the empty seat beside Spock, then at Spock. Spock gestured at the seat and P'Losiwst, with a sigh of relief, hurried into it.

At the front, Absom's voice boomed, "Lateness will not be tolerated in any subsequent class sessions."

P'Losiwst bowed her head and her antenna more so as she silently arranged her things in front of her. A few other cadets turned to watch her settle in.

Absom introduced the topic of propulsion systems, explained what aspects the class would cover that day. He began calling on random students to answer questions from the video lectures and the readings. When they were not answered satisfactorily the resulting glare and criticism were withering.

Absom pointed at P'Losiwst, asked what the required fluid rate was for warp core ignition. P'Losiwst gave her answer as a range, based on the lecture versus the textbook. Absom sniffed, moved on to a student in the front row with the next question. P'Losiwst pressed her hands flat together before her, but kept her eyes open and fixed on the instructor. The questions continued until most of the room had been asked at least one question, although Spock had not.

The room was distinctly tenser compared to the start of the hour. Absom quietly paced the low platform in the front. His Starfleet issue boots made a rhythmic thud.

"Now that I have impressed upon you the necessity for not just watching the lectures, but actually learning from them, absorbing them into your actual brain cells, installing them into your personal wet ware shall we say. Let's move onto an exploration of our topics, as much as possible at this early time in the course." A giant projection of a 3D model of an impulse engine appeared above the commander's head, rotating slowly, fields indicated by glowing, pulsing arcs, arrows showed the flow of thrust. 

"Impulse propulsion. Everyone assumes impulse is much simpler than warp, but it is not. Why not?"

No one moved. The class grew quieter.

"Come now. I'm tired of calling on you lot."

A timid hand went up in front and a tall cadet with tall hair said, "The equipment making up the impulse drive IS far simpler, sir."

"The equipment. Yes. Maybe that's not what I mean by simpler, Cadet." He paced again, shoulders hunched.

Spock waited for the answer, curious since this wasn't in the materials.

Absom raised his chin. "The Vulcan. Haven't called on you. Why is the warp drive simpler?"

Spock either had to guess or state that he didn't know. He could only think of one answer. "It creates a single large envelope around the entire ship."

Absom tilted his head. "Interesting. And the impulse?"

"Creates a braided set of high energy ion streams that the engine, using a secondary energy field, must grapple and grab hold of and climb in leaps, in a sense."

"Where'd you read that?"

"I didn't, sir."

Absom peered up at Spock for a full eight seconds. "Explain to me, as technically as possible, how an impulse drive works."

Spock did so. He described the energy fields involved, how the pulsing was the result of interactions that would create reverse thrust if allowed to build too high and fall into phase. Spock had read more about the impulse engines than was in this class's materials as part of his panicked ship design preparation. The impulse engines were enormous hogs of coolant and power, even as much as they generated enormous power when on full stream, power that needed to be shunted and stored, or shed into space. And because they tended to be installed at the ship's center of mass relative to the usual desired direction of thrust, they required heavy shielding, heavy enough to shift the ship's center of mass, requiring expensive iterative designs.

Absom held up a hand after five minutes and fifty one seconds. Spock stopped. P'Losiwst was looking over at Spock, antenna straight up.

"A bit rambling. A bit outside this course. What's your name, Cadet?"

"Spock, sir."

"Spock. A bit rambling."

"Yes, sir. I apologize, sir."

Absom nodded dismissively, moved on to discussing the physics at the core of the engine. 

At the end of class Spock picked up his padd. P'Losiwst stood at her place. "I must beg forgiveness for my father's words."

"You do not need to. I understand his words are not yours." 

"When my father departs from his visit to earth, I'd like to make it up to you. Take you out for a shared meal somewhere well above average."

"I do not know how to respond to that."

"Say: Yes, thank you."

Spock bowed. "I have work I must return to. I do appreciate the sentiment. I will give you a reply when I have one."

She followed him down the stairs beside the tiers. "I do hope I haven't made things worse."

Spock stopped outside in the corridor. The other cadets flowed around them.

"Perhaps I am not responding with enough clarity," Spock said.

She waved that they should step aside between two 3D projectors. 

Spock said "I have no difficulty with you. I am unfamiliar with such an invitation."

"I don't mean anything by it." Her antenna waved. "Well, other than I want to defy my father as well as speak to you for a time and I owe you a nice meal for the insults you bore at my expense. I can afford any food and or food and entertainment establishment in this city. As, I'm sure, can you. Although I should not make assumptions."

Spock imagined that Kirk would tell him to get out a bit.

"I accept your invitation."

She smiled. "Thank you. And maybe we can work on any group projects together."

"That would be acceptable."

\-------- 8888 --------

"I thought you'd stay at the Academy longer on the first day of class." Kirk spoke through his shirt, which he was using to dry the sweat from his face. He had been heading out for a run that morning when Spock left, but had apparently gone out for a second run in the late afternoon. "No events you're expected to attend this evening?"

"There are a number of events. But I require the time for study."

Spock watched Kirk cross the room, pick up a towel and head for the bath. The shower ran. Zienn had departed three days before and the apartment felt colder, as if the wind and fog were penetrating more in his absence. 

Spock tried to read a book on the theory of interior architecture that he'd found in a recommended reading list on a decades old study sheet. Spock had lost all ability to judge the importance of different subtopics. Each he encountered, usually without realizing it existed at all, seemed as critical as the last.

Kirk returned, toweling his hair. "You want to petition to get out of that class?"

Spock raised his head, tried to judge Kirk. The idea certainly had merit. Spock was paying very little attention to his other courses. But he had never expected Kirk to make such a suggestion.

"I think I would prefer to score poorly than give up," Spock said. 

Kirk sat down, his face was serious, but distant. "How was your first day? You had three classes?"

"Yes, propulsion, core world cultures, and leadership theory. Tomorrow is navigation and ethics through galactic literature."

Kirk sniffed, rubbed his face with a bundled corner of the towel. "You get singled out?"

"Only in propulsion."

"Absom still teaching that?"

"Yes."

"I think they'll replace him with an AI when he dies. Maybe they already have." Kirk gave a late grin that didn't reach his eyes. He stood up, kept talking as he moved. "Expectations high?"

"Yes. But not unreachably so."

Kirk turned, bunched the towel up. "Good."

Spock watched him move off, pick up a padd. Spock wanted to say his name, call his attention back, but he didn't know what to say after that.

\-------- 8888 --------

Overlander came home. Her uniform was ruffled, and she brought the scent of oxidized metal and rosin with her into the apartment.

"Good. You're both here. It's a bit of a mess, but want to see my ship?"

"Love to," Kirk said. "Any chance we can take Spock?"

"Are you kidding? Spock's easier. You are the problem, Mr. Kirk. You have a gray status which is worse than no status. You need a security escort and a special pass, which I arranged, but only with help from Rand."

"Did you get Rand reassigned to you?"

"Not yet, but I will, damn it. I also wanted Chief Long, but that request got turned down the instant I submitted it. So, now I'm going to make an extensive personnel wish list so after getting too many denials, I can insist on Rand, if no one else." She smiled broadly. "I'm figuring out how this works."

She walked over to Spock. "And look at this, our cadet has ship simulation diagrams open in front of him. Interested in a tour?"

"Very much, sir."

"Behaving yourself now that classes have started?"

"Yes."

"Did you apologize to Grange?"

"I did not. At the time I completed my duties for him, the proper opportunity did not arise. Should I seek him out and do so?" 

"No, don't bother him with it. Bothering is what he wants to avoid, I'm sure. Want dinner first or ship first?"

"Ship."

"Of course you'd say that. I see you forget to eat all the time. Let's get some takeout on the way."

\-------- 8888 --------

The ship's life force had been reduced to a blower rush underlaid by the four-hundred cycle hum of the central power bus. The maintenance crews were pulling panels, stacking them on carts, revealing the skeleton of the ship within skin of the walls.

The three of them waded around the pulled insulation, trailed by a two person security detail. Engineering was still more or less intact. A team was standing before the primary display boards, gesturing and discussing something with emotion. One demo crew was working on the large plasma condenser unit that ran half the length of the longest bulkhead. Six large carts sat nearby each with four hard sided cases open on them. The crew was on the floor, using air drills on the copious bolts holding the first section of the unit's cover in place.

"Commander." A man in red with commander's stripes strode over to them, glanced at the security detail, then gave Spock a long looking over.

"Chief Ping, this is my friend Kirk and Cadet Spock. I'm just giving a quick tour. But I would like an update. I see the condenser is still holding things up."

"We're still sorting out issues." He had a spanner in his hand. He knocked it into his palm as he talked.

"Same issues?"

"Looks like it." Ping's mouth turned down.

"I saw from the gangway that we did get ground power."

"Yeah, we jury-rigged a spliced line." 

"That puts us just 28 hours behind schedule and we just started. But it's an improvement. Well, carry on. I don't want to get in the way, but if you need anything from me, I'll be around for an hour or two, then I'll be back at oh seven-hundred."

The tour took the maintenance lift out of engineering and down to the shuttle deck, which was surprisingly quiet. 

"Not much will come on board until everything gets off that's going off," Overlander said. She poked her head into one of the parked shuttles, ran a hand over the hull. "She's a bit battered. This is the kind of maintenance that gets overlooked at port. But I'm sure you'd like to see the bridge. We'll work our way up there."

"May I see the overhaul schedule and plans?" Spock said.

Overlander put a hand out for his padd, worked on it a minute. "That's the summary. Probably all I can give you."

Spock scanned the executive summary of the work plan and watched Kirk instead as they went. Kirk hadn't said anything, but his eyes moved over everything with starved interest. 

They circled each deck, greeting crews hard at work. On deck ten above engineering the floor panels had been pulled out and crudely cut panel chunks had been laid across the lattice work of supports and spot welded into place for walking.

"To finish stripping out the engines, we'll shut off the gravity for a few days," Overlander said. "That will be entertaining for everyone else working on the ship. Might need to set up a buddy system to keep people from using the opportunity to get their zero-g-spot club membership."

She turned to Kirk. "You have one?"

"I'm not answering that. You?"

"No. Hence my annoyance with everyone else."

On the bridge, Kirk stepped forward to the second rail as if inextricably drawn to the view of the rest of the station and the stars beyond. He slowly raised his hands, rested them on the rail, stared out. 

Overlander fell quiet and she and Spock remained beside the center seat, watching the ships hanging at station, watching Kirk.

Spock did not want Kirk jolted away from the view. He thought it would be good for Kirk to recover himself from it. Kirk knocked on the rail with his knuckles, turned his head around, gaze still distant. 

Warning strobes flashed on the space dock's structure, bounced between the gleaming hulls of ships in dock. Overlander reached over to the command chair arm and switched the view. A ship was gliding out of dock two berths down. 

"It's the Hampton," Overlander said.

Kirk cranked his head back to the screen. His body followed more slowly. "Graham at the helm?"

Overlander hit a few switches. Tag information appeared beside the ships on the screen, the same size as what would appear on a diagram of tiny blips on a star chart, but in this case, the ships dwarfed their tags. "No. Captain Ikon has her. He has one foot in retirement. Looks like a short patrol run of the inner core is her mission. I'd assume that means they're expecting to come back and get Graham."

Kirk turned from the screen again, looked around the quiet consoles as if for a distraction. The lift doors opened and a familiar face stepped onto the bridge. 

"Sirs. Chief said you were onboard, Commander. I'm reporting for second shift. Sorry I'm late. Just got my papers."

"How are you, Crewmember Hully?" Kirk asked.

She stood straighter. "Very good, sir."

Overlander stepped up to her, but Hully had noticed Spock.

"Cadet," Hully said.

"Crewmember," Spock replied.

"Report to the crew team on deck ten. That'll be Lieutenant Weerbon. If Chief sent you up here, then Weerbon likely needs extra hands more. Until he figures out what to do, Chief Engineer doesn't need any hands at all."

"Yes, sir." With a last glance at the security detail by the scanner station, she departed.

"I'd like more of my crew moved over here, at least for the refit," Overlander said. "I've got three more in the paperwork pipeline and Ranger isn't going anywhere anytime soon. But I expect most of them would rather go out, than be stuck in dock for months."

Kirk stepped away, stared at the viewscreen from the far end of it.

Spock said, "May we return to engineering? I would like to observe some of the demolition if that is acceptable."

"Of course," Overlander said. "The outgoing scrap isn't a secret. Come on."


	17. Rewrite

In the Apollo's engineering section, both teams were working on the condenser. The front side of the metal cover had been removed from the first stage of the unit. Fourteen antigravs had been attached to it to maneuver all 10 centimeters thick of it to the side and out of the way. The officers stood beside the unit, discussing and directing the teams. Two science personnel crouched beside the unit's glowing pods, scanners in hand. The pods went dim, flared, went out. Red lights came on inside the pods, began flashing rapidly in sequence, down and back. Crew from the other side of engineering shouted. The pods hummed back to life.

Chief Ping came briskly over to Commander Overlander, shaking his head. "I hate to do it because it means evacuating the ship, and pulling out of dock, but I think we have to do a full-shut-down dismantle. This was supposed to be done in the first hours we were in dock. The antimatter and the overflow were supposed to be sequestered and secured on the station first thing."

Spock said, "I am curious. May I enquire--?"

Overlander said, "It's far safer to dismantle it while it's powered. The operational fields significantly lower the chance of an antimatter release."

"But the unit must be removed from power?" Spock said.

"It's shutting down at random intervals," Chief Ping said. "This ship's had gremlins since it was built. But the condenser controller has new issues making it erratic, and when it goes out of spec, the failsafe has no choice but to cut power and revert to the pods' emergency systems. We can pull the pods in that mode but we have to evacuate and bring on a hazard team because the magno valves on the pods are old. Powered, the cowls would contain any valve leaks." He put his hands on his hips, spanner clutched in his right fist. "We're going to be chasing this blasted issue for the rest of the teardown and upgrade. All I can say is, it better not get into the new systems."

Spock turned to Kirk, raised a brow. Kirk tilted his head to indicate they should step aside. The security detail followed. Chief Ping watched Kirk and Spock with narrowed eyes as he and Overlander discussed the alternatives. Spock realized that the chief engineer likely thought the security was there for him, and intended to remain beside Kirk to retain that misunderstanding.

Spock said to Kirk, "I suspect it is the virus."

"They didn't say that. He said the ship's had problems for a long time. Some ships are just like that." Kirk took Spock's arm. "But so what if it is. What do you think you can do about it?" Kirk didn't give Spock a chance to reply. "You want to do engineering, not computing. You said that, right?"

Spock sensed a trap. "That is my personal preference."

"I can see you itching to help. First off, you aren't qualified under these conditions. This ship isn't in deep space. It's in dock. There are a thousand people ahead of you, well experienced with Starfleet ships, who can be assigned to take care of this."

Spock watched the crew on the floor scanning the oblong pods of metal and glass inside the case. The metal was corroded on the seams, the glass discolored where it contacted the metal. The unit hadn't shut down again, but he imagined that the threat of it was enough to force a halt to the work.

"Spock," Kirk said. 

"The chief engineer said he'd be chasing this for the rest of the teardown."

Kirk pulled Spock's arm to turn him away from the condenser. "Look at me. You show too much competence in this area, you can easily get stuck working on this for years, instead of what you want to be working on. Be selfish for once." Kirk squeezed his arm. "Look at it this way. You may be a much better ship designer, or astronomer, or asteroid fungus botanist or who knows what, than you are a computer expert. You don't know how much good you could do in some other area, but you definitely won't know unless you get there. You need to be stubborn about what you want to do. You, my friend, are too good at everything."

"But this, in particular, is my fault."

Kirk dropped his voice so only Spock could hear him. "No, it's not. Someone in Fleet's computer core wrote this version. Remember cleaning up the Ranger's systems?"

"Yes. But that version would not exist without my framework and algorithms."

A small engineering crewwoman was putting on a reflective hazard suit to crawl inside the other half of the heavy case of the first phase of the unit.

Spock stepped in an arc to turn Kirk so they both could see the ongoing work. He leaned close. "If anyone dies because I do not assist, which I am certain I can, then I will find that unbearable."

Kirk put his hands on his hips, tossed his head. "Go on then. If they let you." Kirk raised his brows. "They likely won't. This isn't the same situation, Spock. There is order here, not chaos. Not a battle situation."

Spock put his hands behind his back, hesitated beside Kirk. "I may need your assistance. You are, after all, the official virus composer."

Kirk's lips stretched into a smile. "Admiral Coyran knows it's not me, but he might not have told anyone. Okay. I'll see what I can do. Please remember what I said, though. Your freedom is important to me."

Overlander was talking on her communicator about a replacement controller. Chief Ping was crouching beside where the crewwoman had crawled inside. He periodically reached in as if concerned. Ping pulled his crewmember out of the unit, stood her up. He came back over. 

"Phase one looks pretty good, but two of the pods in the third phase are out of spec for emergency backup capacity. If we have to shut it down, we have work very fast, and simply dismantling is probably faster than rewiring."

"Commander," Spock said. 

Overlander and Ping both turned. Spock took a deep breath. "I am capable of disabling the virus in the controller."

"The virus is endemic to the code now that it's in it." Chief Ping sounded impatient and annoyed. "It's written itself into every module and can't be deleted without eliminating half of the controller's logic. That's how it works." 

"I am quite aware of how it works," Spock said. "I wrote it."

Ping stared at Spock, looked to Overlander, who shrugged.

Ping scratched his black bowl-cut hair with his spanner. "Whether you wrote it or not, which I tend to doubt, I'm not having a cadet working on my systems."

Spock nodded, stepped back half of a step.

"We'll get prepped for a shut down. With your permission, Commander?" Ping said.

Overlander looked at the unit, looked at Kirk. "He really write that virus?"

"He wrote the first version that disabled the bots. This is likely the newer version we cleaned off the Ranger. Spock, here, to be more specific, cleaned off the Ranger."

Ping raised his spanner to point. "Your name is Spock?" He fumbled with his utility belt, pulled an armored padd out. He thumbed the screen and held up the display. "This Spock?" A centered title with staid serifs read: Draft II Starfleet Embedded System Interface SEcureFilter Software Specifications (SESISESS). Below it were listed three standards committees and an Unaffiliated Contractor, Spock.

"After the virus disabled the USS Ranger during the battle with the USS Sanchez," Spock said, "I submitted to Starfleet suggested changes to the stand-alone device network interfaces. After we finished reprogramming the most vulnerable systems, I submitted a revision to account for the problems the new security model caused." He turned to Kirk. "You assured me it would get buried."

Kirk shrugged. Bit his lips on a grin. "I was wrong."

Ping said, "I have a terminal on it you can use. We tried loading from a backup, but either the virus is in our backups or it self-repairs too fast. We can't reload the original control code as it's been edited every time the hardware was improved. Original code would be more dangerous that an outright shutdown."

"I simply hand edit the live memory of the device."

Ping stood with his fists at his sides, the spanner twitched in his hand. "I really don't like that idea." He gave Overlander a wide-eyed glare.

"A device as simple as this controller would not have much active memory," Spock said.

"A few gig, which, as relatively small as that is, no one can edit by hand," Ping said, staring at Spock as if disliking him more.

Spock held Ping's gaze. "You underestimate me, Commander, but it is, of course, your decision. Understand, please, that I do not want anyone's life put at risk for what was originally my creation."

"Do you have any idea how many lives have been at risk from that virus?"

Spock nodded crookedly. "I can estimate it. Nevertheless, that motivation drives me at this moment."

Ping looked Spock up and down. "They let you into the academy after you pulled this stunt? Or do they not know."

"The academy might not know," Kirk said. "The admiralty knows." When the others looked at him, Kirk said, "I told them myself. So, I know they know."

Spock said, "I intended to disable the bots. Which the virus did successfully."

Ping flicked the spanner in his hand around. "I do remember that we suddenly had the upper hand in the war. No one seemed to understand what had changed the tide." He frowned and shook his head.

Overlander said, "Chief, it's your call. I happen to believe he can edit three gig of memory. But this is your area. I'm not going to step on your authority on this."

"I only need to disable the virus's ability to trigger an override of the emergency systems. That requires I make only a handful of selective changes to it." Spock said.

"We should have had this condenser out twenty four hours ago. It should have been replaced last overhaul. Someone was cutting corners declaring it still had enough service life remaining." Ping stared at Spock. "How long will it take you to do this?"

"If it requires more than twenty seven minutes, I will have to declare that I am incapable of the task."

Ping turned, waved his spanner. "Thumper, disable the network on one of the terminals there and hook it to that controller. Shimmy, you can get out of the suit."

The crewwoman in the metallic suit gave a thumbs up.

Spock stepped up to the terminal, pulled up the hex editor, fired off nine different pattern scans on the memory, made sure they only matched code associated with the virus. Ping and two others looked over Spock's shoulders. Ping had explained to his lieutenants that Spock was named on the new draft specs. He did not mention that Spock had written the virus. 

"Your security assumes we're keeping an eye on you," one of the lieutenants said of the two red shirts still on the other side of engineering.

"Apparently, sir," Spock said.

Ping motioned the others to silence.

Spock worked more systematically than he had been during the Ranger's emergency. He checked all of the virus's altered code for variations that might cause issues once he partially disabled three of its modules. The virus code was not technically self repairing. It just made itself endemic to the system and would write over itself when it found a partially cleaned version of the system it was already on.

Spock halted the system, executed the search-and-replace cascade he'd prepped, and resumed the system, all in a quick trill of his fingers. The emergency power packs on the open phase of pods gave a blurp of complaint, but the pods continued glowing.

"That it?" Ping asked. 

Spock scanned memory, looking for tell tale pattern shifts showing the controller was munging the logs used for determining control outputs. He did this for four minutes. "I believe that is it, yes sir."

"Maybe we'll give it half an hour. What are we looking for here, cadet?"

"One of the ways the virus causes erratic system behavior is by increasing and then decreasing the log values so that the controller begins to alias and overshoots or undershoots its specified output boundaries."

"Oh." One of the lieutenants blurted. "The virus may be in other systems we haven't IDed." 

"Well, everything is getting pulled or wiped," Ping said. "Thumper, you think you can spot this?"

The lieutenant with fine brown hair that drifted off his head reached in front of Spock to change the display's paging of memory. "You have this wrapping at the correct bits to show some kind of pattern on the screen?"

"I do," Spock said.

"Right. I can watch it." 

"The system was resetting so often," Ping said, "that if we go half an hour, I'd feel pretty good pulling phase one."

Spock stepped back and the lieutenant moved in. The glow showed on his young face. Like Kirk had said, there were thousands of perfectly qualified personnel available. 

Ping gestured for Spock to follow him off to the side by the manual override panels, away from everyone else.

Ping huffed. "I'm a little disappointed they let you into Starfleet, Cadet."

"The version of the virus I wrote did not target Starfleet systems the way this version does. I believed at the time I released my version, that Starfleet's interfaces would already be rigorously designed and not allow it to propagate. The Colonists were more vulnerable, cobbling systems together from whatever they could get with little time for proper system architecture or rigorous hardening."

"Where'd this version come from?"

"I have a supposition but no solid information," Spock said. "Whatever this version's origins, the systems in place should have withstood it. You would not blame a quasar for damaging your ship if you failed to shield it. By avoiding all quasars, you will never fully learn how to shield a ship. The virus may have been intelligently created, but it is mindless in its continued existence. Like a quasar, in that way."

Ping turned a raised brow at Spock. 

Spock said, "I do regret any difficulties it has caused."

"Someone who knew what they were doing set it against Starfleet."

"It would seem so."

"I admit it never interfered with life support. Or seemed to not do so in any significant way."

"That was by design. I intended that it not interfere with essential systems. Those who modified it retained that mentality. They may have done so with the same moral intent, or perhaps they recognized that the virus is more efficient at spreading in that mode. If it simply destroyed a ship's crew, it would be far less virulent.

Ping made a wry face. "Yeah. It would be." He stepped away, leaving Spock alone.

Spock returned to Kirk, who was watching Overlander directing work prep. The security detail were lounging against the bulkhead by the maintenance lift, arms crossed, bored.

"Get yelled at?" Kirk asked.

"Moderately."

Kirk smiled. "That's how you know you're still on your own path, Spock." He gestured at the work. "We'll probably get kicked out before they pull those. No reason to have more bodies around. The risk is lower under power, but even a minor leak is very dangerous."

"It would seem that maintenance is sometimes an afterthought in design."

Kirk laughed. "Supposedly it's not. Problem with this system is they only expect you to touch it once going in and once coming out, so there's little reason to make it easy."

"I see. Wiser to make it simple and reliable so doesn't require maintenance."

"Bingo."

"Ship design is an n to the n problem. I do not see how it succeeds at all."

"This from someone who can hand edit gigabytes of live memory."

"That is quite easy in comparison."

Kirk sighed. "Don't overthink it. If it's being done successfully than there is something about it you don't understand."

Spock sounded vaguely strained. "I am aware."

Overlander directed the security detail to escort Kirk and Spock off the Apollo while she remained onboard to oversee the condenser tear down. Neither spoke on the walk back through the ship. Spock noted the exposed wiring channels on the bare bulkheads, how they had been rerouted and spliced into over time. He mostly watched Kirk, watched his posture grow brooding.

On the station, they passed one broad window after another overlooking the docked ships. Grand hulks of silvery white hung in stillness in uneven rows due to their varying sizes. Kirk didn't speak until the two of them and their escort reached the space station transporter room and the tech asked for a destination.

Kirk said to Spock, "Let's go to my dormitory." He gave the coordinates to the tech and they arrived in the lobby beam-in area.

Kirk had been assigned to this room for many days, but his full duffle bag sat out on the side table, yawning open.

Kirk took a bottle of wine out of the chiller. He poured out barely two swallows and sat hunched over the glass at the table, eyes focused beyond the solid wall shared with the adjoining room.

Spock considered asking Kirk why he had not scheduled a review panel of his commission. But he feared that asking would be disloyal and potentially damaging. Captain Chanel's harangue had solidified Kirk's lack of action. It had spurred Kirk to accept the situation, to settle into it with less struggle.

Spock tried again to find the right question. But to question at all was to fail to be what he wanted to be for Kirk.

Kirk sipped his wine, finished the two splashes. He didn't reach out to the bottle to pour more. 

Spock waved his hand before the lighting controller and the lights dimmed, highlighting the corners of the furniture. They were on a lower floor that looked out at a building across the street. Of the windows facing them, the shades were drawn or the glass darkened. A tree at the corner of the building shivered in the wind. 

Spock put his hands on Kirk's shoulders, slid them around and down his chest. He kissed a soft human cheek, reached fingers to his neck to unseal his shirt, slid his hands inside the shirt, over bare chest, over nipples that were firm the second pass of his hands.

Kirk sat up, sat back in the chair. Spock bent down to kiss his neck, pulled his shirt aside to run a line of kisses along his collar bone. The texture of Kirk's skin changed, an energy, a tension formed a membrane within his flesh. His body grew warmer. Spock's hands felt their way over the seal on Kirk's pants. He opened the seal, opened the soft overlap of the underwear front. The heat surged, the membrane spasmed. 

Kirk shifted his butt to spread his legs, to let Spock get his hand along his thigh to tug his erection out. It jumped in Spock's fingers, thickened and jumped again. Kirk turned his face to the side, his shallow breath heated the fabric over Spock's upper arm. Spock ran his fingertips up and down, grasped the glans, which elicited a moan. Spock held that way, feeling Kirk's heartbeat, feeling each spasming pulse of his erection seeking touch. 

Kirk sat unmoving. Spock squeezed, gently kneaded Kirk's glans. Fluid dribbled onto his fingers. The membrane in Kirk's flesh became electric, tightened. Spock massaged the fluid into soft skin, leaving Kirk sticky rather than silky. He kept moving his fingers. He put a fingertip into the opening, stretching it gently. Kirk moaned, shifted his hips back as far as he could. His hand snaked up, clutched Spock's upper arm. Spock rewarded this by stroking him down the shaft with just his fingertips tracking in the faint grooves. Up and down. 

More fluid dripped onto his fingers. Kirk remained fixed, breath erratic. Spock wanted him to ask for more, ask for Spock's mouth, ask for his body. Spock kept stroking and the membrane remained tense, loaded. Kirk's hand relaxed on his arm, just touching, steadying himself.

Spock released Kirk's erection, slid his hands around, lifted him up under the knees, under the upper back. Kirk snorted in dismay, but it was just two meters to the bed. 

Spock climbed over Kirk, looked down at his half clothed body, his dark erection pointing at an angle up at him. Kirk raised his gaze to Spock, lifted a hand and ran it over Spock's Academy uniform. Spock gave him time to ask for something, but again he remained in waiting, watching.

Spock bent and kissed Kirk's sternum, kissed his way to Kirk's groin, took his erection fully into his mouth. Kirk's hips remained stubbornly on the bed. Spock raised and lowered his head rapidly then slowed and stopped. Still Kirk remained fixed. Spock maintained a slow pace for several minutes, sensing the membrane warping, forming pleats pinned to Kirk's lower abdomen. Kirk's penis grew stouter. It ceased to bob. It jetted without warning.

"Oh," Kirk said, then fell yet more still as his body orgasmed into Spock's movements.

Spock stroked Kirk's thigh, felt him shiver along with the waning energy in his flesh. Spock climbed up him, laid himself partly across him, hooked a knee over Kirk's thigh.

"James." He parted Kirk's hair. A tension rose in his own gut, but a very different kind. "May I meld with you?"

Kirk's face jumped to expressive, then became sultry. "Yes. Of course. Even though I suspect you have ulterior motives."

Spock let his hand fall from Kirk's face. He rested his face on the pillow. Kirk turned on the bed and his hands came up to Spock's face, forced him to look at him.

Spock said, "You do not seem to wish to repair things. With Starfleet."

"I'm not ready to." Kirk's thumbs rubbed Spock's cheeks. "I need time. I've gotten through this before. I'll manage again."

"You do not want more assistance?" Spock heard his own voice waver. He swallowed hard. 

"When does it stop? At some point I have to stand on my own two feet. No one is going to be there to pull me together out there. If I ever get back out there. I have to earn this or I don't deserve it." Kirk's hand tightened on Spock's head. "I'm healed, Spock. I'm not full of terror anymore. Okay?"

Kirk let go, rolled onto his back. Spock let his head rest on the pillow, draped his arm over Kirk's bare chest. Kirk lay with his clothing open, partly covered by Spock's body. 

Kirk's hand stroked Spock's back in slow circles. "I suspect that offer of a meld isn't open anymore. But I thought I'd ask."

Spock raised his hand to Kirk's temple, tried to drop the barriers to his mind. They resisted weakening. He had to force them down against the instinct of privacy and self preservation. After a minute, Kirk took Spock's hand off his face and held it, bundled Spock's fingers together tightly.

"Don't," Kirk said. "What I feel from you is dread." He wrapped his arms around Spock, ran one hand over his uniform to his ass, cupped it. "You need anything from me?"

Spock shook his head. 

"Certain?"

"My body is still recovering from the last time."

Kirk tossed his chin, smiled. "You really came last time. I couldn't even keep hold of you." His hands gripped Spock tighter for a moment. "I'd love to do that to you again."

Spock lifted his head. "Should I have waited longer for you?"

"No. I loved what you did." Kirk lifted a hand and ran his fingers under Spock's bangs. "You made me feel incredibly special, which I needed. I don't usually like being taken care of, but by you, it's different. But I will like doing that to you again, especially the way you squirm and lose control."

Spock felt his face and ears heating up. "I suspect my recovery time will be considerably longer, before I am capable of that reaction again."

Kirk's hands tightened, relaxed. "That's an unfortunate side effect of figuring how to really get you off."

"Indeed."

Kirk smiled, tightened his grip on Spock's buttock. "Dirty talk makes you blush. I like that too."


	18. Path

Zienn's guide encouraged him to walk ahead as they crossed through a lightweight gate of red painted wood. They were on a long open dusty plain surrounded by uplifted striated mountains. Sol's light shimmered yellow off everything, made the greenery around the town glow greener still. The monastery sat on the very top of an errant rocky outcrop with plain buildings packed around the base of it. The ubiquitous colored flags flapped on long ropes tied to the points of whitewashed stupas. 

Lhundup walked close, never falling far behind. He had behaved with confidence when they boarded the international shuttle in San Francisco, but the close quarters of the metal ship, and the loss of contact with the weight of the planet, had forced Zienn to meditate deeply, and upon arrival he had needed time to recover. Lhundup had grown nervous during this time and still kept nearly constant watch over him. Fortunately, the subsequent airshuttles up into the mountains had been smaller and lower in altitude, and each bent peak of mountain and spire of rock cut off the minds of those behind them. Here on this high valley, it was quiet, and the shimmering air seemed to cleanse everyone's thoughts. 

Lhundup adjusted the triangle of wrapped robe draped forward over his left shoulder. His soft body was growing fitter as they walked from place to place. They took aircars when absolutely necessary, but were walking otherwise. Lhundup accepted this fate without complaint. His shaved head was growing out with a sharp peek on his forehead, so his head was no longer shined with effort. Groundcars were not allowed as they could not be classified as ferries. Zienn had tried to ask for clarification of the logic of this, but had to settle for tradition with a bit of purity of behavior as the answer. Ox cart was not allowed, therefore groundcars were also not. Lhundup insisted it was not about the rules and to please not dwell on them, as there weren't really that many.

"Is there something?" Lhundup said, looking around.

Zienn had stopped upon hearing chanting. It moved on the wind, seemed to come from the air itself. 

"Where do we go from here?"

"I was following you. Who I believed was following your own path."

Zienn thought through their last few travel decisions. He hadn't been conscious of leading. They had gone to the city from the picture in the book, but it had been crowded, with a great deal of alcohol in use. That had led them here, a short distance away. He had perhaps simply been following away from mental noise to quiet and now they were here. Where it was quieter.

Lhundup adjusted his robe again. He was still nervous about Zienn, about his ability to help if he became incapacitated again. His thoughts gave this away. Zienn had given up on the first day and used his guide's thoughts more than his speech. Lhundup didn't say much and his Vulcan was remedial. 

Zienn continued up the road, which rose and switchbacked up above the narrow trees. A pair of young monks, brown skinned in brown-maroon wrapped robes, kicked a ball around in the street, using the hill as a kind of third player. They hurriedly scooped it up and stood to the side to watch Zienn and Lhundup pass, but mostly Zienn. Whispers could be heard, and one of the boys ran ahead, bare feet slapping. The coarsely striped concrete roadway looked unforgiving to skin.

Zienn stopped on a bend to look out. "It is very green at the bottom," Zienn said. "And very gray and dead otherwise."

"It's the Indus river. Runs there."

Zienn's mind tried to find meaning in this, but could not. He appreciated again the idea that altitude, with stone, was the best home for both Vulcans of inner thought and humans.

The entrance to the monastery led into a courtyard. The building's reds and yellows were even brighter up close, topped by glittering gold flame shapes. Two monks in brown and yellow stood in the shade of the overhang, watching them approach. One of them spoke.

"They want to know if you want tea. It is still early enough if we have it before going to the temple."

Zienn nodded.

The four of them sat at a low red table on very short legged chairs. The walls, the posts, the lintels, every surface was covered in colorful painting. It created an awkward and almost chaotic contrast to the mind quiet.

Lhundup spoke to the others in Standard while they had tea. Eventually he said to Zienn. "Offworlders don't usually come here. I tried to explain what you are in your world and they wish to know what you seek."

"I was curious."

"I explained that."

"It is not a sufficient answer?"

Zienn met penetrating dark gazes from round faces, neatly shaved heads. He didn't think he could explain in language simple enough for Lhundup to translate. But if that were the case, perhaps he didn't have a good answer.

"You understand enlightenment?" Lhundup asked.

"Yes."

"But that is not what you seek on Vulcan when you stare inward at the universe or at the mind. That is the sense I got on my visit to your world."

"I cut myself off to better concentrate. To not be tied down by emotion or physical needs."

Lhundup grew eager. "Yes, that is similar. And I expect that is easy for you, given your priest level. You can cut yourself off entirely, I expect. At will."

Zienn almost shrugged, he must have picked that up. He tilted his head to the side and back instead.

"But there is a divergence of purpose," Lhundup said. "You aren't looking to be released to an understanding. You aren't looking for answers."

"I'm looking for the next question," Zienn said. "If I didn't have a next question, I don't know what I would do."

Lhundup explained this and a murmured conversation began. Zienn wondered what question he was trying to find by being here.

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock wore his nicest robes. Kirk had suggested one of the elegant rooftop establishments downtown. The restaurant sat above the fog with a view of the other tall buildings, each ringed by the glow of the lights below.

P'Losiwst wore a silvery suit jacket and pants, a mimicry of earth fashion sewn out of alien fabric never intended for such a garment. She smiled her bright blue lips. All of her makeup was metallic shades of blue more saturated than her skin.

They stood at the bar overlooking the tables, high enough to see out over the heads of the diners. "Good to get out a bit. I think on earth it's called slumming it." She turned. "I probably offended. But it's been a change coming to the Academy." She eyed him. "Maybe that's not the case for you that it's a decline. I've never been to Vulcan, but the pictures look positively spare."

"I do understand about the need to adapt. It has been more necessary than I foresaw."

"Things have been much quieter for you since Academy started, I think," she said. "For me too, but in very different ways. Fewer parties, mostly."

Spock considered her. 

She laughed. "I am the research queen. If I get a chance to meet someone, in person, I make the most of it. Father taught me that. If it's public knowledge, I know it. If it's gossip, I especially know it."

"I confess," Spock said, "That I don't know why your father would be primarily in charge of your social education. Perhaps that is the norm on Andor."

"My mother left. And I'm glad you don't know the details."

Spock faintly nodded. "If you feel they are relevant, you may share them. Otherwise, they are irrelevant."

She sucked her drink down halfway. Stopped and rested the drink in her other palm. "I love those robes you have on. I have to know where you got them. I need a set."

"You will have to make some adjustments or you would be labeling yourself as being in my clan." Spock indicated the scrollwork around the lapel. 

"Is that writing?"

"It is my clan heritage inscription. On these it is stylized to pure decoration, so I would not expect a non-Vulcan to see it as writing."

The waiter came and led them to a prime corner table, right where the glass came together seamlessly. The spot gave one a feeling of dizziness and falling. P'Losiwst put her antenna right on the glass and peered down. The fog had torn open, showing the greenery below on the street level.

Spock considered that he had yet to ask a question. "Why did you choose Starfleet?"

She grinned. "No one expected it. I got stubborn about keeping at it because everyone, just everyone was sure I wouldn't. Now here I am." She leaned over to look down again. "I'm happy, though. I feel like purpose is a good thing to have. More so than the purpose of figuring out whose ship we're going to take to the ice moons of Hurtio for some tele-skiing. But I'm starting to miss that purpose too. I have to not let boredom crush me. You get bored? I guess not."

"Not so easily. But I would not have turned down an opportunity for an exploration of the Hurtio Ice Moons. That would have interested me."

"Did you leave friends behind on Vulcan?"

"Not in the human sense of the word. I have cousins I saw at times."

She sucked down the rest of her drink and the waiter appeared with another, along with a long board covered in little indents, each with a tiny bite of colorful food resting in it. "Miss them?" 

Spock considered the question. Everything had changed. His expectations about how he should spend his time had changed. He had not thought about his cousins in weeks.

"No."

She sighed. "I miss my friends. I send them updates, but they don't seem interested in them, or even want to pretend interest. Their updates make me feel bored. I should probably stop watching their updates, just let the computer summarize. In text. Boring text that is I tell the computer to make more boring than my studies."

She pushed the food his way. He tried the item closest to him, helices of brown around sticks of something white. It tasted like vanilla and coffee and incense.

"So, I have to ask." She popped a second bite into her mouth, pushed it around with her tongue. "Your boyfriend. He's like a serious hero, but he's out of Fleet right now?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, touchy topic, but an irresistibly one. It's my food, that kind of thing. Speaking of irresistibly delicious that also describes your boyfriend, based on the feeds of him I overdosed on yesterday. Hero of Wolfram. I still hear people mention that." She pushed the board a micron closer to him. "I'm going to eat everything and feel badly. Take at least one more."

Spock picked up a clear sphere full of tiny spheres of other colors. It tasted like tea and fresh herbs.

"What's it like dating a hero? I've always wondered."

"I have no control data for comparison."

"You are addorbs." Her eyes grew bright and hungry. "First serious boyfriend and you snagged Commander Kirk? I need your secret."

"I do not have one. Or, I do, but not regarding that."

She finished off one of the rows of tidbits, pushed the board to him again, wiped her fingers. "The food is okay. I'm getting used to it. On earth I mean, here. On another topic . . . can I keep asking questions? Just tell me you prefer it to stop."

"Your questions have been acceptable."

A line of hovercars swooped up out of the fog and up out of view just meters away.

"Good," she said in clear relief. "Questions are an art form. I feel like we have something weird in common, the Academy, and I can be more direct than usual. This is all new for me. It's always been a matter of weighing political affiliations, families, and money, very complex and always changing. You couldn't just join something and get to know a load of beings from everywhere and every kind of living. I think I like that. It's not boring."

"I believe when you are on a mission and it is dangerous it becomes less boring as well," Spock said.

"You've been out on missions. So I see in my researches. You were on the USS Ranger."

Spock wondered how much one could learn about him if they mined every data source. 

"I was."

"And you were a Militant before that. That probably wasn't boring. It sounds positively anti-social."

"It was long periods of inaction under high stress," Spock said. "I am told most military service has this feature, which is the reason there is a great deal of mundane work or practices to be done most days or a superior will be displeased."

Her antenna sank backwards. "Sounds like living with my mother again. My plan is to move up and become the one in charge of being displeased." Her antenna rose up straight and she smiled. "What are your goals?"

"I do not know yet what I wish to be better at. Or where to focus my learning. I have been warned that since I am good at many things, I will be pushed into doing work I don't prefer. I have already been formally requested by two different instructors to work on their projects."

"You are special."

"I do not wish to be. I wish to choose my own path this time."

"Can you say no? They out rank you, don't they?"

"There is what I've heard referred to as a fine line. A thing which must be tread upon, to keep on the path one wishes in this kind of circumstance."

She finished her second drink. "This isn't a problem I expect to have. I want to be envious, but you make it sound terrible to be wanted. Keep it up."

"I am trying to quickly learn how things work."

"When you figure it out, can you let me know?"

"Of course."

They talked until oh one hundred hours. The demurely dressed patrons of the restaurant had been slowly exchanged for a scantily clad and sparkling crowd that pressed around the bar area. The music and the conversation grew louder. By tacit agreement, the two of them stood at the same time. The arriving elevator was full. They were the only ones departing.

The elevator doors slid closed, muffling the sound. P'Losiwst said, "In my previous life, I'd be just arriving too. I'd have just gotten up and gotten dressed." She turned to Spock. "I feel like I need to hang around your sort, the serious sort."

"Was the evening that boring?" Spock asked.

She laughed. "No. But I don't know how to be serious except as playacting. It doesn't have to be boring. I hope."

Back at the Academy, they passed along the long glassed-in connectors, dimmed for night.

"A little late, aren't you, Cadets?"

The two of them stopped and turned to face an approaching Lt. Grange.

"We don't have curfew tonight." P'Losiwst turned to Spock, "Do we?"

"Not according to the schedule," Spock said. "There is no early attendance requirement tomorrow to warrant one."

Grange stopped before them, hands on hips, head tilted. "Bad habit this early in the term. Curfew or not. Also out of uniform. Don't stay that way longer than it takes to get back to your rooms." He squared his shoulders. "Can I at least assume you are going to different rooms?"

Spock said, "We are assigned to different rooms, sir. That is correct. You have access to our dorm assignments, do you not?"

Grange closed his eyes. "You are doing it again, Cadet."

"I am confirming your assumption, and asking if you require further clarification."

"No. You aren't."

Spock raised a brow. 

"You want extra work again, Cadet?" He looked away, rolled his eyes. "Fine. Report to me tomorrow for a three hour stint. At something. I'm sure I can find something." He strode off, shaking his head.

"You're a troll," P'Losiwst said with a renewed smile. "I just realized that."

"Is that how it appears?"

"It does now that I think about it."

Spock nodded. "That is an acceptable assumption. I should return to my room."

She was still laughing. "Why did you do that just now? You didn't speak out of lack of control like one of my spoiled party friends would, that was purely calculated."

"It was. If my spare hours are tied up in simple duties for Lt. Grange I will be unable to report to any of my instructors for project work that will truly interfere with my extra studies."

"Oh, brilliant light." She put her hands up before her mouth, elbows out. "I shouldn't have doubted you. Right. Good night." She turned, gave a dainty wave over her antenna.

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock stood in the long hall that led between the embassy public areas and the rear living quarters. In the weekend silence the long marble halls whispered with each shift of the air. Sgroud had messaged Spock informing him that it was expected he would be present to greet his parents upon their return to earth. Shuffling footsteps and his mother's clear voice reflected along the marble floors leading to the back. Spock shrugged his robes better into place. He'd changed back into them out of his uniform, not seeing any useful purpose in provoking his father.

Sarek stepped aside to let Amanda pass. He moved with new vigor. Spock masked his pleasure at seeing this. He masked everything. His mother stopped to greet him. She wore the heavy garments she tended to wear on the ship, which was not kept as warm as the embassy or the house in Shikahr. Her dark hair curled out from under her cream colored draped hood. He expected she'd move off to change out of them, but she stopped beside him and waited as if in support of him. 

Sarek's renewed strength showed also in his steely expression. "I would speak with you, Spock."

Sgroud kept his head down, carried their things inside and then moved quickly back out of the hall toward the offices. A heavy door closed in the distance. Sarek stood with reserved patience until the halls quieted. 

He turned fully toward Spock with unusually light movements. "You will be sent for training at a temple on Vulcan, Spock. It is being arranged."

Spock's calm broke. There could be no coincidence of his father's words following upon Zienn's. Spock regained his composure before he spoke. "You make it sound immediate, Father."

"Did Exalted High Priest Zienn not speak to you?"

"He did. He made a single comment to me, twice. But neither one with such an implication of urgency." 

Spock retained his exterior control but inside he was floundering. Classes had started. He was studying hard for an extension course. He had settled into his place in the dormitory. He had new acquaintances. All of that was crashing around him, undermining him rather than holding him up. 

Sarek studied Spock, looking for cracks, Spock imagined. Amanda bowed her head, brushed Spock's arm.

"The urgency may be partially mine, but I do not think it misplaced," Sarek said.

"Perhaps we can wait and consult with Zienn when he returns from Tibet," Spock said.

"It is Exalted High Priest Zienn, Spock. I will not tolerate a tendency toward familiarity in such matters."

Spock nodded deeply. "Yes, Father."

Sarek circled before Spock and Amanda with casual control of his movements, hands clasped before him. "Do you somehow not trust Exalted High Priest Zienn's assessment that you require training?"

Sarek had not grown angry, but there was an immovable force behind his words. Spock risked being honest. "I would debate the need, yes."

Sarek's face hardened, but his voice remained the same. "He stated that you were guiding human souls without training, that you were forming ad hoc realms at will."

Amanda raised her head. 

Spock refused to let heat reach his face in front of her. "The first I will admit to doing, but not recently. The second I do not know to what he is referring."

Sarek's face grew flat the way it did if he estimated Spock was lying, but Sarek again did not grow angry as Spock would expect in such a case.

"I have just started at Starfleet Academy." Spock's voice sounded fragile in the cold marble hall surrounding them. "You gave me your permission to attend."

"I did. And I am not withdrawing it. My logic is sound. It would be far more disruptive to your future Starfleet career to break up your education and initial assignment upon a ship rather than retain that in the usual sequence. Therefore, logically, you will spend the necessary two or three years at temple now, and begin anew at the Academy after."

Spock did not have a response. His chest felt tight. 

"This is a family matter, Spock," Sarek said, "in which I have full authority--"

Spock interrupted him. "Have you found me a place? At a temple? On Vulcan?"

Sarek paused, not appearing to need it to collect his own control, but to allow Spock a chance to collect his. "Not as yet. But the family will. And if we fail, Exalted High Priest Zienn will find you one. There is no purpose in debate, Spock. You will go."

Spock felt short of breath despite the heavy earth air. His control was faltering. He was going to lose face if he remained here before his father a minute longer. "I have things I must attend to, Father, if I may depart--"

"You will remain for lunch, Spock." Sarek waited for further argument, then turned and strode away.

Spock turned away from his mother, tried and failed to lock down the physical reactions manifesting in him. She came alongside him again and took hold of his arm, which didn't help.

Despite her highly unusual gesture, he said, "I will be in my room meditating, Mother."

"Spock. Come and sit with me. I understand you are struggling and it does not offend me. Come."

Spock could not deny her. They sat in the formal dining room in the seats on the far opposite end from those they usually used for eating. 

"This is an honor for you, Spock," Amanda said. "It is a validation of you. Can you not see it that way?"

Spock looked away. A feeling of utter loss had risen up forcefully inside him, without regard for his disciplines. He had gotten out of practice with suppressing difficulties that were manifest from so deeply within him. And he needed to be alone to have a chance of addressing them.

"It is likely only two Vulcan years. Three at the most." His mother's voice was intentionally soothing. It grated on his wavering control.

Spock turned rigidly forward to consider the centerpiece on the table, a Vulcan ceramic sculpture in salt glaze swirled with yellows and oranges. The surface had a glassy crazing, by design, apparently, rather than malfunction of the firing process. Three years was little time to a Vulcan, but Spock had been acutely sensitive since childhood to the accelerated aging of humans. Kirk would change a lot in that time.

"Spock?"

"I am not fit to discuss this, Mother." Indeed, he could not speak levelly even to say that much and vowed to say nothing more.

Amanda stood, pushed her chair in. She whispered, "I'll call for lunch."

Spock sat in his usual seat, eating enough to not attract notice. He could not taste what he ate, felt it as lumps of heavy metal in his stomach. The conversation between his parents was muted and entirely regarding embassy affairs. Spock remained passive, inward, idly applying each discipline he knew in a bid for outward serenity and less inward distress. He felt calmer doing so, but it felt like defeat rather than control. He found his distress only declined when he ceased to care. Vulcan disciplines were a path to passivity. Spock appreciated at that moment the social right to get upset that humans retained in their culture. He felt unfairly robbed of it.

The plates were cleared. Spock clasped his hands together in his lap, wished he'd worn his Academy uniform. This had apparently been his one chance to do so in this place. Amanda stood up, gathered her outer robe around her and departed, patting Sarek on the shoulder as she passed, an unprecedented gesture that jarred Spock even within his deep funk.

Sarek continued to surprise Spock with his steely detached calm, as if his frequent anger had been at least partly a byproduct of his poor health. 

"If you think there is a choice in this, Spock, you would be mistaken."

Spock longed to argue. A pile of counterpoints fought to escape him: Sarek had sent Sybok away to one temple, and then another; it had accomplished nothing positive. As a full Vulcan, High Priest Zienn could not truly understand him or what he really needed. Spock was not likely to be accepted anywhere appropriate to him, given his hybrid status, and he foresaw nothing but misery for himself, horrifying melds to assist his learning when he could not measure up, which was certain to be the case. He had been slow at all disciplines as a child, had only truly come into the disciplines of his youth as a necessity of surviving with the Outliers.

But any argument would delay his departure from the embassy to a place he could be completely alone, and that was all Spock wanted at that moment. So he sat. Waiting.

"If your human friend is worthwhile, he will wait for you."

Spock looked slightly away to hide what threatened to be dark amusement or mockery. His father had pinpointed something of no concern and held it out as if it could possibly be relevant.

"Starfleet Academy likewise is amenable to delayed admittance," Sarek said. "There is one logical path ahead for you. Do you see another?"

Spock could not discern any logic right then. He needed distance and meditation. But if he ever found himself accepting this path as the correct one, he would hate himself.

"I require meditation, Father."

Sarek spent half a minute observing Spock before saying, "Go then."

Sarek likely expected Spock to go to his room there at the embassy. But Spock left entirely, took an aircar to the dormitory building and knelt in his room there. 

Spock addressed his breathing, in and out, controlled, conscious of every muscle in his torso. He slowed his heart rate. The wall before him had lots of cabinets although not nearly as many as a cabin on the Ranger did. That memory undid him and he started again. His usual disciplines had been more than sufficient for interacting with his instructors, with his fellow students, with Lt. Grange. But his more than sufficient control was easily decimated from within. He was his own worst weakness.

It was fortuitous that it was Sunday and there were only social events. Spock knelt for more than two hours, staring at the cabinet handles. It would bring him immediate relief from his emotions to engage in meditation, but he did not. He feared that if he stepped back from his reactions and organized his thoughts, he would see the inescapable logical of his father's thinking. Spock bowed his head, closed his eyes. Shivered.

The loss of internal temperature control forced him to meditate. He put himself into level two meditation. To get deeper he needed to walk a familiar path in his mind, one he'd walked before to reach level three. He thought of walking the path of the temple outside Shikahr. But he'd been there last with Zienn, who had set this crisis in motion. Likewise he could remember meditating aboard the Outlier ship, or the Ranger, but those also brought emotion with them. Spock shook his head, remained in level two.

Spock managed a shallow level three meditation after working for hours entirely on his emotional control. He was in it when the door chimed. Kirk's voice came over the intercom, "Spock, it's me."

Spock rose up through the layers of his mind and instructed the door to open.

Kirk stepped inside, leaned on the inside of the doorframe as it closed again. "It's twenty-three hundred. You usually come back for dinner. I don't want to crimp your style, but you didn't reply to my message and I wanted to see if you were all right, and now I see you're not." Kirk looked him up and down, slowly moved to sit on the bunk so that his knee rested against Spock's side where Spock knelt on the floor. 

Kirk ran his hand over Spock's shoulder. "What's going on? Did you run into an issue with someone here?"

Spock closed his eyes, held them closed. "My father insists I leave the Academy. He insists I be sent to a temple to be trained as a high priest."

Kirk sat straight, clutched Spock's shoulder. "What? Where'd this come from?"

"Zienn."

"Zienn, I see. Do you have to obey?"

Spock came up fully out of meditation and met Kirk's alarmed and saddened gaze. "It is the family's right to determine who goes to the temple for what training. And who will remain there as an occupation. I am, fortunately, not expected to remain there."

"And you can't talk them out of it?"

Spock bowed his head. "In order to disobey I must leave my family."

Kirk chewed his thumb. "Did the priest say anything to you? You didn't mention this before."

"He did, just a comment. I did not get the same imperative sense from his words that my father has."

Kirk dropped his hand and bit his lips instead. He rubbed Spock's shoulder. "Well, no wonder you're hiding in here." Kirk scooted closer, put his knees around Spock and stroked his back. "Well." He paused. "When can you come back?"

"Fundamental high priest skills can be acquired in two to three Vulcan years. But that would be optimal acquisition of the necessary skills. That timing assumes I can manage to acquire the skills at all. That timing assumes more is not demanded of me at the time I complete the basics."

Kirk leaned forward, put his arms around his shoulders and held him. "Oh. Spock."

"I am not fit for the temple. I can barely initiate a meld. I am barely Vulcan."

"Spock. Spock, stop that." Kirk held him tighter, rapped him on the chest with his knuckles. "I won't let you do that. You can complain about your situation, but I won't let you go down that path. You are a phenomenal being."

Spock fell quiet for a time. "Forgive me. My emotions are making my logic untrustworthy at this time."

"I don't know what to say, Spock. I can't help you with your family that easily." Kirk's voice sounded thick. "I want to pull you over here and hold you. But what do you need from me? Please tell me."

Spock turned his head partway to Kirk, nearly told him to leave so that he could return to the small solace he had found in level three meditation. 

"Yes. Close contact with you. Please." Spock rose up, allowed himself to be pulled down to the narrow bunk and held, rested his head on the pillow Kirk hurriedly centered for the both of them. Minutes past. Spock passively felt in detail the tiny movement of his scalp follicles as Kirk moved his fingers through his hair.

Spock expected Kirk to sleep, but he did not. He remained awake and staring at the ceiling, just as Spock remained out of meditation, staring across Kirk's chest which was clad in a soft, long sleeve plaid shirt with actual buttons down the front of it.

"You know," Kirk said. "Whatever you feel you need to do--" He stopped talking, bit his lips. 

Spock felt intense sadness that was not his own. Kirk's chest rose high and fell in a delay after he exhaled. 

"Whatever you decide," Kirk said. His hands rubbed Spock's arm, gripped his back, tightened and held firm. His hand reached up and stroked Spock's face, dragged a finger along his brow. "I'm here to support you. Okay? I can't tell you what to do."

"Contemplating my situation alone is injuring me in a way I do not comprehend. I am incapable of logic."

Kirk kissed him on the eyebrow, rested his head back again. "Maybe it will be okay. I'll get past my hearing. Get a decent posting." He tilted his head side to side. "Eventually get promoted." He stroked Spock's head. "Maybe by the time you get back from Vulcan and get through Academy, I'll have a big enough ship and enough influence that I can get you assigned to me. How's that sound? It would be a meteoric rise, doing that in six years, but I could do it. If I'm very lucky."

Spock lifted his head and looked down at Kirk. "You are trying to make me feel better."

Kirk smiled. "Of course I am. I'm trying not to be selfish. I don't want you to go because I don't know who I'll get back." Kirk drew in his lips. "I shouldn't have said that. This has nothing to do with me. You do what you need to. Whatever that is." Kirk tightened his arms.

Hours passed. Spock rolled to the side and stood up. Neither of them had slept.

"What time is it?" Kirk asked.

"It is oh six hundred twenty four. I have an oh seven hundred project meeting before class."

Kirk propped his hand behind his head. "Did you schedule it that early?"

"No, my fellow team member did. She is Andorian, and is overcompensating for a tendency to have a schedule exactly the opposite of this." Spock picked up his larger padd, then set it down and picked up the small assigned one. "I do not know if it is worth continuing to participate."

Kirk sat up, rubbed his mussed hair back. "It's always worth it. Make the best of it. The battle's not lost until you're dead."

Spock tilted his head. Kirk gave him a crooked grin.

Kirk stood and approached, put his arms around Spock and held onto him. "Spock. It will work out, okay. As long as you come back."

"I do not wish to depart this place."

Kirk scrubbed Spock's hair. "Then you have to be ready to weather the fallout of that."

"That would mean forcing my father to disown me."

Kirk's hand froze. "Would he really take it that far?"

"I do not know." Spock lowered his head to rest it on Kirk's shoulder. "I do not know why I am being forced to make this choice. There is no viable option."

Kirk held him several minutes, until the clock ticked to the thirty mark and Kirk pushed them apart. "Will you be okay for the day? I can meet you here this evening. What time will you be through?"

"I will message you."

"I'd feel better with a time."

"My last class session is over at seventeen hundred."

"I'll be here on the thirty, with dinner. Okay?"

Spock nodded. "Thank you, James."

Kirk grabbed him as he tried to turn away, kissed him passionately, then let him go just as abruptly. 

Spock triggered the unlock and the door slid open.

"Make the most of it. Okay?" Kirk said. "Always do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry these chapters are rougher. Work is super busy right now with no end in sight.


	19. Futility

Spock stepped into the intern office. It was late evening but he wondered about Lt. Grange's location. Each time Spock saw him, he expected to be informed that he was in trouble for having a guest every night. Spock saw no items lying around the office that would indicate whether Grange was still working or had departed for his rooms for the evening. Spock sat down at a desk and logged in. He had finished his previous assignment and looked for a message describing a new one.

Grange's rapid footsteps preceded his voice. "You're here? You already finished cleaning up the dev machine like I asked, didn't you?"

Spock stood, put his hands behind his back. "You did not explicitly state that was the conclusion of my required duties for you."

"I see." Grange took a seat on the edge of an empty desk, propped one boot on the desk Spock was using. He looked Spock over in silence for sixteen seconds, frowned. He brushed his boot off. Wetted his finger, wiped at a spot near the toe, used a handkerchief to polish the whole toe of it. Considered it. Put his handkerchief away.

Spock remained still through this.

"You're going to make trouble the moment I tell you you're finished with your previous duties, aren't you?"

Spock didn't think had the energy to concoct a humanly interesting answer, but he said, "Likely not within the hour."

Grange laughed. "I'm drawing the line. What's up?"

Spock raised his chin as he'd seen others do when addressed by a superior. "Commanders Juhstin and Lowery as well as Mr. Tyronu have requested I be assigned to their computing projects. I cannot fail to comply, but I can be otherwise assigned."

Grange stared, laughed again. "Right. So you are instead doing boring projects for me."

"Your projects do not occupy even a fraction of my mind. They do not require real effort, which the others will. Work for you also does not set precedent for further orders."

Grange sat back, shoulders hunched. "I'm grateful for your help, actually. I'm last on the list for getting anyone assigned. That's why I have outside interns in here. Fortunately, people are willing to work for the cheap because it's the only Starfleet Academy going. But you can't keep doing this. It's about to result in a cumulative black mark on your record."

Spock, who knew he would have difficulty being assigned under Kirk when he completed his studies because his record would be too good, wasn't certain this was undesirable. He nodded that he understood the risk.

"It's the kind that mark that really does stay on your permanent record. And since you are a first year, it also triggers counseling and a note sent home, just in case the permanent mark's not enough of a threat."

"I see," Spock said.

"How's your relationship with your parents?" Grange's pale skin took on a spotty blush as he asked this.

"Less than optimum at the moment." Spock swallowed hard. 

"I don't want to risk it then." Grange considered him half a minute. "I hadn't thought about it before, but it seems likely all Vulcans have strict parents. You provoking me has been such a novelty. And it seems like you are trying on rebellion as a hat, which is amusing too."

"My actions have been for the reasons I stated, sir. And you are unambiguous in your assessments of my work, which is pleasing."

"Pleasing?" Grange propped his arms on his raised knees, a posture Kirk often adopted when he was in a good mood. "You always do a good job, Cadet." He shook his head. "Ah. You want to talk about what's rocky with your parents?"

"No, sir." Spock resisted pointing out that Grange had previously stated, multiple times, that he had absolutely no interest any Cadet's problems.

"You father is pleased that you're here, right? It's a big achievement. It's not that easy to get in."

"It was not his first choice for my education. I estimate that he remains not pleased."

"You estimate. So, what does please him?"

Spock considered this. "Obeying him precisely," was all Spock could think of. Grange didn't speak right away and Spock reconsidered his answer. "I admit that I do not know the criteria he uses to judge my fitness, in general."

"Not very logical keeping that secret. Not if he wants to be pleased."

"I have not considered this enough to have a response to that assertion."

"Well, at least you are here, Cadet."

Spock dropped his gaze, locked down his emotions.

Grange put his feet down and stood up. "Well, I want to give you something else to do, but I can't give you another demerit." He tilted his head. "I might be able to claim I need you to fix something that you worked on earlier that broke. How about you look for a new set of projects and lectures for the 3D projector corridor? The person who selected the ones that are there wasn't as smart as you and we need to raise the bar."

"I have not worked on that previously."

"I didn't say I was going to be truthful. Cadet, you have an inflexible mind."

Spock looked aside.

"I didn't intend that as a criticism. It just keeps surprising me. Your future commanding officers are going to love you for it." He rapped on the desk. "Well, get to work. I'll see if I can file your assignment so no one kicks it back and reassigns you. Given who wants your time, I'm not optimistic."

"Thank you, sir." Spock nodded and resumed his seat at the desk.

Sounding sarcastic, Grange said, "My pleasure."

\-------- 8888 --------

Psyche Two was in a tower of rounded windows on the edge of the bay, overlooking Barge City and a low-key tourist pier. The city was quieter here. Fewer aircars rushed overhead. Fewer boats motored by.

Kirk waited in an anteroom painted in peach and gray. A middle aged man with pale hair came in wearing a formal smile. He offered his hand. Introduced himself as Ianderson.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Kirk. Kevin has mentioned you more than a few times. We like to be careful with timing, and usually would wait for this part of the reckoning of the past, but we think he'll do well seeing you." He looked Kirk up and down. "I was debating whether you should come in uniform, since Kevin has you rigidly defined as a Commander but I saw in your file that isn't an option." He stared curiously as if his assessment mode had shifted Kirk's way.

"Not at the moment," Kirk said with an easy smile. "How is Riley doing?"

"He is doing well enough. He's been treated with a psychotropic flush and a series of small stem cell injections for remapping. His depressive and self destructive behaviors were acute and his family wanted him treated aggressively. They want to take him home."

Kirk hoped Riley really wanted to go home. He nodded.

Ianderson dropped his voice. "The aggressive treatment also makes it less likely that Starfleet will see fit to hold any hearings."

Kirk nodded again. He kept nodding as the doctor further described the treatment and what to expect of Riley.

"I'll bring him in," Ianderson said. "Try and refrain from bringing up the emotion of what happened. We aren't wiping facts, just the ongoing damaging associations." He hesitated. "All right?"

His tone struck Kirk as one who doubted Kirk's competence. Kirk had faded out from the present a bit during the discussion. He pulled himself into the moment and nodded, exuding the kind of natural confidence superiors responded to best.

Ianderson steered Riley in by a hand under his upper arm. Riley's skin seemed transparent. His green eyes glowed like gems out of his wan and pink face. Kirk's hands were sweating. He brutally reminded himself that this had nothing to do with him.

"Commander," Riley said, dropping his gaze like a schoolboy. His right foot rolled inward. 

Seeing this old behavior eased Kirk's stress considerably. 

"You're out of uniform, sir," Riley said.

Kirk put on a charming smile that worked on himself. "Your doc wanted me to wear it but I wanted to come see you as a friend. If that's all right."

Riley's eyes became shiny and he looked down again. Kirk had hit the mark. 

Kirk didn't want any long silences. "They told me you're doing well, but I see you are doing very well. How are you feeling?"

Riley nodded faintly with his whole upper body. "I feel pretty good, but . . ." His brow pulled together. He seemed to be looking for acceptable words.

Kirk cut into the silence. "You keep expecting it to end abruptly. I know how it is. You'll get used to feeling better." Kirk smiled again, again felt it himself.

Riley's shoulders shifted as if in relief. "Yes. Exactly. How are YOU, sir?"

"I'm doing good. My friends are in a bit of trouble. But I'm skating through, as usual."

Riley's face seemed to harden. He stared at the floor beyond Kirk's right hip. "How is your Vulcan friend?"

"He's in trouble with his father."

This raised Riley's head. "Bad trouble?"

Kirk made a face of doubt. "I don't know yet. He has to make a very tough decision and it depends on which way he makes it. Either way, he'll be all right in the end, but where he is now, facing either option is making him miserable. But he's young, he'll come out the other side better for it, I'm certain. Not that I express any of this to him, because he can't see it and I don't want him to feel abandoned."

"You're a very good friend."

"I could always be better."

Kirk waited this time. He was talking too much.

Riley's head vibrated in small nods. "I'm sorry for what I did, sir."

"I know you are. And that's all I need."

"I don't want to be so stupid again."

"Someone took advantage of your faith, which is one of your best qualities. It's not your responsibility to see to it every captain is acting in good faith. And I'm very grateful you were there, so I don't care much about the reasons for it."

"What would you have done, in my place?"

"Honest answer? I'd have lied and said I went along with Garrovick to keep an eye on him."

Riley seemed a bit lost. He should his head. "I couldn't do that. I wouldn't even have thought of it."

"I know. And you're the better person because of it."

Riley's voice grew distant. "He was so convincing. Did you see the records, hear him?"

Kirk almost glanced at Ianderson for a hint how to proceed. He decided that would be more damaging to defer to him rather than treat Riley with respect. Back when Kirk imagined he was preparing for his own review hearing, he had reviewed what Overlander's account could get access to. "I did."

"You don't think he was convincing?"

"He was. But I heard his words through the lens of Tarsus IV. That's my weakness, Riley. I am as much a hopeless cynic as you are a trusting soul." Kirk poked Riley gently in the chest. "And I'm as likely to cause a major fuck up because of it. I just hope to the Great Bird I can be as lucky to end up in the right place as you were as a result of said mistake."

Riley looked around behind Kirk. "The ends justify the means, sir?"

"They damn well better. The galaxy is too wild a place for anyone's premeditation to ever play out as expected."

Riley's brow furrowed. "I always disliked that uncertainty. It made me fluttery and uneasy all the time." He met Kirk's gaze. "It always seemed to make you more alive. I couldn't understand it."

Kirk envisioned himself back on a ship. Tried very hard not to accept that the likelihood of that happening was growing increasingly lower with each passing day. He remembered those heady moments of command when everything suddenly clicked into place and insight meshed with reality. "I never thought of it that way, exactly. But I think it does make me feel more alive." 

Riley nodded longer than necessary. "I going to go home. Find something more predictable to do."

Kirk smiled. "Do me a huge favor, okay? Don't let your family run your life."

Riley's jaw shifted back and forth. "They keep saying things. I think they plan to."

"Don't let them. It's your life. Okay?"

Riley met Kirk's eyes for the first time, held them. He spoke with force for the first time. "Yes." 

"Get on your feet. Get some distance. See them on weekends when you want to, not because they insist." As he said this, Kirk realized he was doing it again, speaking from inside his own dark cynicism. As if he could possibly have this problem of family trying too hard to help him.

"Thank you. No one else seems to worry about that. I guess I didn't know I was allowed to be worried about it." 

Riley glanced with puppy-like hope at Ianderson, who nodded. 

"We'll discuss it. Ready to go, Kevin?" Ianderson said. "I'm sure Commander Kirk has things he needs to do."

"Not more important than this," Kirk said.

Riley stared down, rolled his foot over to the side.

"Thank you, sir."

"Keep me up to date on how you are doing. Okay?"

Riley nodded. "I'm sure I can keep up with you in the feeds. When I get home and can watch them again."

Kirk smiled and nodded, thinking that once he did, Riley would know he'd lied.

Kirk stopped outside Psyche Two into a patch of shifting sunlight. The clouds were high today, thin and bright white. His hands felt weak at the thought that he could have ended up on the same kind of treatment path, been looking forward only to being taken care of, expressing his ego in small victories over trivial personal matters.

A groundcar slid into the drive, disgorged three passengers, who looked repeatedly up at the tower with strained hopefulness as they approached it. 

Kirk had gotten through this before. He'd felt exactly like this before. Had gotten through it, somehow. He had found focus, found a new way of being alive through focussing on learning everything he needed to join Starfleet. Then learning everything everyone at Starfleet Academy had told him he needed to know. At some point during that process he had became someone else. But he'd been young. He'd needed to grow up anyway. Maybe that had been the entire change, not anything Kirk had done for himself. Like Riley's stem cell injections were intended to do, allow him to start again with a child's resiliency. The thought of that made Kirk shudder inside his bones. He'd rather accept this state and find another way to move on. Maybe he already had.

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock sat in the Navigation classroom an hour before class was to commence. There was another student here too, the Alaskan woman. She sat with intense concentration, using one of the super high resolution 3D displays in the front row to work through the tutorials from the previous session.

On his small padd, Spock opened a text on Buddhism. He'd opened and closed it three times already that morning. He found the philosophy to be interesting but the mind techniques human-centric. He wanted to understand enough to estimate how long Zienn would be gone. The high priest had been in Tibet nearly two weeks, including the uncertainty regarding travel time. The texts were no help estimating Zienn's possible interest level, but Spock kept referring to them anyway. He had no other source of information.

Spock shifted the graphs of the complex equations around on the display before him, let his mind immerse itself in the purity of the math. The room filled, the instructor arrived. They were still doing simple navigation of speeds less than .7c. But even then, the math was difficult. They had begun with gap-space, single target cases and had were about to move to system targets and moon orbits. Most students focused on learning the interfaces that solved the trajectories, how to verify the output was rational. Spock expanded the calculation windows, made semi-random adjustments to the parameters. 

Navigation was the most pleasing class of the week. Even if Spock never again saw these displays, he felt he'd gained something essential. The instructor, a young lieutenant with bionic legs beneath a knee length uniform skirt, came around the room, watching them work. Class time was strictly for getting help solving problem sets. She never lectured. And today, she did as she usually did, paused behind him for a minute, moved on. 

Spock found the administrative menu, which was not locked out, added a small blackhole to the model, just at the edge of the previous solution's route. The computer hesitated returning adjusted solutions, churned. This wasn't a real ship's system; it didn't put up a warning that a new intermediate navigation point was required. It simply failed to resolve. Spock felt an illogical emotion of vindication at this. He closed his eyes. He was giving emotion to much rein, had been all day. Previous days, he had retained a purely stoic attitude that had allowed him to be pleased to be at Starfleet Academy, even temporarily. But without his conscious sense as to how, that pleasure had become thin and his experiences here were beginning to make his spirit raw.

The classroom for Ethics through Galactic Literature was unlike the others. It did not have any desks. It had rings of soft couches interspersed with amorphous bowl shaped soft seats for non humanoids, and far fewer students per class section. That made it obvious even to a lazy observer that Spock never participated. 

The instructor was a civilian, a tall, broad human with a paunch he hid under a knee length shiny tunic and contrasting colored belt. Mr. Mehra never called on anyone, but participation was 30% of the grade, and Spock had never participated. Spock wondered most classes whether he had read the same stories as the others. 

Mr. Mehra and the eager student who talked half of most classes, were discussing the Andomeda IV short story entitled Settlement, one of three assigned for that class period. 

Mr. Mehra, holding out a wholly unnecessary arm in invitation to the talkative student to continue, said, "When the Colonists, who are facing a disastrous famine, spend their time not planting the next crop, which might save them, will in fact likely save them, but instead chisel the nearby three story rocky outcropping into the shape of community's spirit animal, what does this tell us about them? What does it mean?"

The central theme of the story had been so illogical, Spock had assumed it was some kind of broad condemnation of organizational decision making absent a formal structure, a reflection of undisciplined individual instinct taking hold and controlling an entire group. He knew based on the analyses offered by similarly minded students during previous classes that this conclusion was best kept to himself.

The student stated that she wasn't certain of the answer, but that it seemed a way of being fully industrious, which was the central moral standard of the community in the rest of the story, a demonstration that they were still morally deserving despite bad luck.

Spock raised his head. Mr. Mehra looked his way, waited expectantly.

Spock spoke the thought that had just randomly filtered through the haze of his personal frustration. "They are leaving a legacy. The continual futile struggle to "scratch at the earth that is not earth" to get each planting to a successful harvest and survive to the next rains, that will not leave any kind of statement telling anyone who might follow who they were. Chiseling the figure is a way of taking absolute control of the future in the one way they can." 

Mr. Singh smiled. "That is essentially my reading of it as well, Cadet."

Spock nodded. If nothing else, he felt he understood futility.


	20. Invitation

Chapter 20 - Invitation

The glowing message had Sgroud's ID on it. That likely meant it was from Sarek, relayed through his assistant. Spock keyed it up on the screen. Perhaps the embassy had heard from Zienn. The message rendered in the vertically overlapping, decorative font Kirk found amusing, and indecipherable.

The message stated that Sarek requested Spock's presence at the embassy that afternoon. It was Saturday and likely Sarek had confirmed that there were no classes scheduled. But Spock had a class project meeting at that time. He experienced a cold fatalism as he informed his group that a personal scheduling conflict had come up and he would not attend on time. Spock would at some point have to leave the Academy entirely. The logic of his fate had proved inescapable. But the emotion had not and it still barred Spock from fully accepting the logic.

Spock felt little hope for the time he would have to spend in a temple. He lacked a full Vulcan's innate ability to gain new mental disciplines. He knew this, had long ago accepted it as part of who he was. He worked around his slow learning in his own way and avoided the necessity of demonstrating his skills. Temple high priest training would consist of daily assessments. There would be no escape from his failures.

And there would be melds, frequent melds. Spock had put aside his Academy studies long enough to verify this about the P'Q'ver Temple, for which there was a clan library of notes and letters. P'Q'ver was the temple currently favored by his clan and attended by many of his priestly ancestors. But Sybok had trained there. Spock either would not be accepted, or he would be treated as an outsider.

Spock had grown accustomed to being one of many nonstandard beings at the Academy. He was no longer different, because different was its own kind of norm. And he was adept at most of his studies. Literature and Cultural Analysis were at best, low-middle average, but he did not mind. His struggles in those subjects, in itself, seemed to say something about who he was, not what he lacked.

Spock attended his one morning class for the day. He brutally forced himself into a stoic mode to, ironically enough, get the most pleasure from it. Back in his dorm room, he changed into a taupe colored set of outdoor robes, heavy and frayed at the hem and cuffs, and took an aircar to the embassy and presented himself at three seconds before the required time.

The servant led Spock to the den and closed the door. Sarek stood beside a brazier, an energy pack heater on a wrought iron stand that pulsed randomly like a small coal fire. The day was rainy with that penetrating bitterness that seeped into the stone walls of the building and refused to be warmed away.

Typically, Sarek would wait for Spock to address him with the formal version of 'father,' but Sarek did not. He turned immediately and said Spock's name.

Sarek knitted his fingers together and stood relaxed before Spock. In contrast, his next words were in the ancient clan language used for discussing formal ritual. "I have arranged with the family elders for a fully recognized invitation to the family of your friend James Kirk, to the express end of a full bonding between the two of you."

Spock had learned to control his breathing in the thick earth air. And he stood now, feeling the barest trickle of air passing in through his nostrils.

"I do not understand," Spock said.

Sarek tilted his head a degree to the side. Despite the highly stilted speech, Sarek sounded generous. "What do you need explained?"

Spock's mind worked. Sarek had, somehow, managed the impossible within the family, a sanctioned bonding to another human in an already diluted line, a bonding to a male, which was highly unusual, a bonding to someone associated with Starfleet, an organization viewed with thinly veiled disdain and suspicion. And all for nothing. Sarek had gone to such lengths without understanding anything of the son he was doing it for. The magnitude of the miscalculation, the misdirected naive effort, undermined what was left of Spock's already frustrated spirit. He dared not respond until he pulled a full stoicism around himself again. He did so with a reality-denying brutality.

Sarek waited, eyes narrowing.

"Why have you done this?" Spock asked. His voice sounded distant, offset from the present, but fully and acceptably calm.

"Do you not want this?"

Spock again took a moment to settle his mind. The idea that his father could have been a close witness to his struggles through two betrothal bonds and still ask this question, undermined Spock again. "I do not want to be bonded."

Sarek's voice became probing. "Even to James?"

"To anyone."

Sarek's expression grew flat. "It is very nearly arranged. Your mother has gone to speak to James's mother."

"He will be greatly displeased to learn of that." Spock found anger. For himself there was only a crumbling of his place in his world, but in defense of Kirk's interests, he found clarity. He wanted to say more, but it risked leading to a rant, so he fell still instead. He drew upon this indirect anger to stand straight and unmoving. "I refuse to be bonded." Spock had no idea if refusal was even allowed. He had certainly not been offered a choice when betrothals had been arranged.

Sarek continued to appear flat, without reaction. "You will certainly not be forced."

Spock clasped his hands before him, settled with relief into his worn robes. Sarek was greatly limited in what he could say in the formal mode they were in, and if he dropped it, was further limited by propriety. And Spock's mother wasn't present, so Spock would not be subject to her second round of conversation. He stood waiting.

Sarek continued to study Spock with sleepy narrowed eyes. He raised his hands, steepled his fingers, continued to study him. He dropped the formal language. "I was intending to make it easier for you to depart."

Sarek was explaining himself. This was unprecedented.

"It is irrelevant."

"I do not follow your logic."

"You understand so little. I do not know where to begin." Spock had been longing to say something like this for more than a decade and felt dizzy with finally having done so. He felt as if a tether had broken that he hadn't realize was holding him down. He wondered again what he would become if he lost all of the tethers, if he had zero concern for Sarek's approval or disapproval. It was a further dizzying thought. He almost dropped his gaze, but held it up with great effort.

Sarek turned away, paced in a circle with his steepled fingers before him. He grew distant. Spock thought he could sense a tensing of his muscles through his heavy robes.

Sarek turned partly back as he spoke. "Is there anything I can do to make departing for a temple easier for you?"

Spock hesitated giving his answer because he'd never in his life been given so broad an offer. "No."

"It is a short time." Sarek said this to the side wall. "You will return. And continue as before."

Spock's possible responses to this were all admissions of weakness, of how he was not as Vulcan as his father wanted. Spock was still angry with Sarek's interference in Kirk's family situation. He held close to that warm energy and said nothing.

"I suppose we have nothing more to discuss at this time." Sarek turned fully as if hoping Spock would offer something.

Spock read both Sarek's expression and the membranes of tension in his posture. Spock had been trying not to practice this new skill but could not forgo the hints it provided. Sarek seemed alarmed, perhaps. Spock had surprised him. He had gone to great lengths and Spock was denying him.

"I would like to speak with your friend, James," Sarek said. "Perhaps you can have him arrange a time with Sgroud. For sometime soon."

Spock considered that Kirk deserved a chance to complain about Amanda visiting Kirk's mother. He nodded, waited again.

"You may go," Sarek said, voice quiet. His expression had gone distant. There was no anger in him, only a kind of collapsing inward.

Spock hesitated, wondering what was behind this vision of his father.

Sarek raised a brow in his direction. The steely forcefulness was back, but it was aimed inward, not at Spock.

Spock did not want to provoke him. He bowed and quietly departed.

\-------- 8888 --------

Kirk came to the Academy dormitory that evening like he did every evening. He bore an insulated package of Mediterranean food. The room immediately smelled of lemon juice, bruised parsley and roast sesame seeds. Spock worried acutely that Lt. Grange would knock on the door following Kirk's entrance. He wondered that the computers didn't monitor the visitor limit rule, as they easily could, and pass that information on for enforcement by staff.

Kirk's smile was pained as he held the food package out. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you up on the offer of paying next time."

"Of course," Spock said. He wanted to ask if Kirk had need of anything, but knew Kirk's room was covered as well as basic food at the mess if Kirk was willing to go there for it. And the question was dangerous and the two of them had other difficult things to discuss.

They ate quickly, as if needing to be somewhere. Kirk packed up and put away the remainder and sat back on the bunk, propped on the pillows. Spock took the desk, opened his studies. He worried about Kirk's anger over Amanda contacting his mother and waited to recount his conversation with Sarek until later in the evening after they'd already had some companionable time together.

Kirk said, "I saw Riley."

Spock put his simulation on standby. "I did not realize you would be doing so."

Kirk shrugged. "It was a few days ago. I didn't say anything about it. His doctor arranged it."

"How is he?" Spock kept his emotions firmly out of his voice. Riley had been willing to help attack Vulcan, something Kirk seemed able to overlook.

"Better than I'd have thought. A little fuzzy from the treatments."

This turned out to be the end of the topic. Spock returned to skimming the manual on fluid repairs while watching simulations of ship piping. Seventeen minutes later, Kirk put his own padd aside, stripped off his shirt, shifted the pillows, and stretched out on the bunk, arms at his sides, fingers curling upward. Over the next ten minutes, he drifted into sleep.

The manual remained on Spock's screen, but he watched the Kirk's breathing instead. Kirk's waist had taken on a faint roll of flesh which rendered him far more human appearing. He was eating excessively and exercising heavily, but the eating was dominating in altering his body.

Spock considered yet again that he was incapable of assisting Kirk. Kirk was the leader, not him. And in the absence of Kirk's leadership, Spock had not stepped up, had no idea how to.

Kirk shifted in sleep, sighed.

Neither of them had control of their lives and the only thing binding them together was a desire to be together, a flimsy thing for a Vulcan to rely on. But at the moment, that flimsy thing was the only thing Spock had. He did not want to be bonded, to be hard wired to another being, fixed to that being's choices with no room to grow. He did not want anyone in his mind all the time, altering his thoughts. He liked the silence of his mind. As much of an honor as it was that Sarek had strong-armed his insular family into accepting Kirk, Spock found the concept of a boyfriend to be far more endearing. He had always been told he'd have a bondmate arranged. He had never imagined having a boyfriend, and if he had learned of the concept before now, he'd have thought it impossible for him.

Kirk's shiny chest rose and fell. This was what Spock wanted, despite the uncertainty, the informal flimsiness of it. Or perhaps partly because of the informality. Something illogical, a power Spock didn't understand, drew them together. Spock found release in accepting that he need not understand it. Its existence was its own proof.

Kirk stirred half an hour later, sat up with a sniffle. "You been studying or just watching me?" he said with a flirtatious smirk.

"I have been meditating."

Kirk smiled more. "Right."

"Would you like to be intimate?"

Kirk rubbed his hair. "You've gotten very blunt."

"It is logical to simply ask."

"I don't mind you being blunt. I just find it amusing. But in answer, no, I'm not really in the mood."

This had been Kirk's response all week. Spock was not in need, but he had estimated Kirk to be.

Kirk said, "To be honest with you. I feel so unsatisfied after that I think I prefer to not be tormented by what should be a release." Kirk bent his knees and hugged them, fell distant.

"I don't want to be Riley," Kirk added, seemingly at random.

"When Zienn returns, perhaps you can allow him to touch your mind again?"

"You've been dying to say that, haven't you?" Kirk gave a pained smile. "Spock, Zienn did what he could. This is me now. I'm not injured. I just have to pull myself together." He rested his chin on his knees. "But if you want me to, I will let him. Okay?"

"Thank you," Spock said.

Kirk lifted his head. "My poor Vulcan. Anything else on your mind that you aren't saying because you are tiptoeing around my frail ego?" Kirk's eyes were bright. He held up his arms. "Come here."

Spock knew they could be lying together for hours. He brought his small padd over and sat beside Kirk on the bunk. Kirk pulled him tight against him, hitched his fingers around his upper arm.

"How are you holding up?" Kirk asked.

"My father summoned me to talk to him today."

"He did? You didn't say."

Spock found the real reason he hadn't spoken yet. "You are going to side with him."

Kirk fell still. He sounded put upon. "You don't think I would be on your side?"

Spock shook his head, not in denial but out of distress. His controls were weary, and with the feel of Kirk's body against him, they slipped free. He bit his lips.

"Spock?" This contained an echo of the old commanding Kirk.

"My father arranged for us to be bonded. Which I estimate you would be pleased to accept."

Kirk drew in a long breath. Spock felt the way it put pressure on Kirk's hold on him. "I don't want it if you don't. I imagine that if you don't like melding you wouldn't like being bonded. Have I got that right?"

Spock nodded.

"Okay." Kirk sighed loudly. "What was your father's reasoning for this highly unexpected move?"

"He stated that he wanted to make it easier for me to depart for the temple. With a bonding we would not really be parted."

Spock felt a shifting of Kirk's body, a leaping of his heart and a buzzing of the membrane of his muscles. The idea strongly appealed to him. Kirk unhitched his hands and used the right one to stroke Spock's cheek.

Kirk sighed again. "That was his only reason?"

"That is my understanding. He has previously stated that if you were a worthwhile companion, you would wait the necessary time for me. He does not understand this is not an area of concern."

Kirk kissed Spock's shoulder through his robe. "I'm touched you're so confident."

"He wishes to speak with you. He requests that you make an appointment with Sgroud."

"You turned him down on the bonding in no uncertain terms?"

"Quite."

"Hm. Bet that stunned him."

"I did not fully understand his response."

"Well, he presumably worked pretty hard to arrange things."

"I did not get the sense that waste of effort was motivating his response. He was more patient than I would have expected. He was not angry."

"You didn't ask why he was being patient?"

"I feared losing face before him and wished to depart. As is usually the case." Spock dropped his gaze to his hands, knitted his fingers. "I have begun to wonder what it would be like to no longer live in the shadow of his disapproval. I would then be free to remain here at the Academy and get a fleet assignment without regard to planetary politics."

"You'd lose a lot doing that, Spock. I expect you'd lose contact with your mother as well."

Spock nodded.

"I don't think you should do that. But it's not my life. And I'm undoubtedly biased toward holding onto a father who is still alive to be held onto." Kirk brushed Spock's cheek again.

"My father sent my mother to speak to your mother."

Kirk's hand froze. He snorted. "Well, I feel badly for your mother."

Spock turned to look at Kirk. "You are not angry?"

"I suppose I am. But I know a bonding's a relationship between families. And I have other things to worry about that I can control. Your mother will survive."

"What will your mother do?"

"You're going to make me dwell on it?" Kirk stretched his neck to the side. "Well, she'll act nice for a bit because your mother is someone important. And human. And looks like she could be from around there. But she'll get vindictive eventually. If your mother remains calm in the face of it, that will make my mother more angry. I'm sure she lacks for outlets that will take her crap for long. Hopefully your mother gives up quickly enough."

"You do not think your mother could be convinced?"

"Of what? That I didn't abandon her. Even though I wasn't the one who always said he'd stay? That I'm not succeeding just to spite her? That I'm not seduced by some alien kind of sex. How'd she used to put it? Unnatural genital stimulation. Something. I don't remember exactly. She'd read about some new zenobiology of reproduction, usually by humanoids, sometimes not, and rant about how it would ruin humanity. It's so absurd just talking about it, I don't think I can get you to understand, really."

Kirk fell thoughtful. "The only thing that would work, for a while, would be the idea that she'd be elevated to someone far more important. But, I honestly think your mother is too sharp to try that line of argument and my mother is too stuck on alien sex to think of it in time. She'll think of it later and be full of regrets to anyone who will listen."

Spock shifted to better look at Kirk.

Kirk said, "You think I'm being unfair."

"I am uncertain how to evaluate your viewpoint."

"It's probably extreme, but not a wholly unfair one, believe me. And if she does agree to the bonding, somehow, and is acting all sweet, she's realized the power of getting her social status elevated. Nothing more."

Spock thought this over. He trusted Kirk's instincts regarding humans, but this was not a typical assessment from him.

"Believe me, when she's not a monster, she's biding her time."

Spock sharped his gaze at this.

Kirk reverently touched Spock's chin. "That worries you, somehow. Talk to me."

Spock had too much uncertainty in his life already to hold in his thoughts. "It is you who sound vindictive. But I have never heard you be that way about anyone else, so perhaps it is not a habit you make with those you have broken away from after the souring of an emotional investment."

Kirk shifted his shoulder muscles, grabbed Spock again in a full loop of his arms. "Are you worried I may end up thinking of you this way? Is that what I'm getting?"

Spock wasn't keeping up with his own reactions. "Perhaps."

Kirk sighed yet again. "I'm sorry. I have to have this wall up between me and her. There's too much pain there, and a stupid, destructive hope that somehow it could change. I don't think about her at all, normally. I tried talking to her. Went home from the Academy a few times, thinking I'd get some of it out of my system. That as adults, now that I'd gotten some leadership experience, that we'd see eye to eye on something. But she just plays these complex games entirely for her benefit and in the end I realized nothing has changed, just her tactics. Or that's how I see it. She was just as poisonous to me as before."

"I see," Spock said. "I admit this is outside my experience."

"I'm sorry. This is too much to burden you with. But if you come to see you've been fed poison for years, you warn others away from it. I can't not do so."

Kirk tilted his head to the side as if wanting to rest it on something. He appeared drained. Spock turned in his arms and tipped them both down onto the bunk. They arranged themselves with practiced ease and fell lax. Kirk parted Spock's robe and slid a hand inside, left it resting on Spock's ribcage and closed his eyes.

"I apologize that this difficult topic has been raised for no reason," Spock said.

"I needed to realize it's still a sore spot for me," Kirk said. "I'll let your father stew a bit? See him on Monday while you're at class. We can do something tomorrow. Get out of town for some scenery. Although I'm afraid you'll have to pay."

Spock let his cheek rest against Kirk's shoulder. "It is no difficulty."

"Your father must have at least partly changed his mind about me."

"You can bring that up in the discussion," Spock said.

Kirk chuckled. "I might do that. Any idea why he wants to talk, exactly?"

"I mentioned that you would be upset by his contact with your family. Perhaps it is that."

"Hm. This whole thing is a little off."

Spock lifted his head. "What do you mean?"

Kirk frowned and shook his head. "I don't know. My instincts are telling me there is something going on under the surface. I can't make my instincts spit out facts, only help fill in the blanks faster than I can get facts.

"I am fascinated by this ability of yours."

Kirk wrinkled his lips into a smile. "And I'm fascinated by you. Put your head down and rest so I can, okay?"

Spock obediently did so. He had not seen the negative side of Kirk's emotions before. But, of course, it must have been there. Like any rational being, he kept it set aside, out of the way.


	21. Guides

Chapter 21 - Guides

Amanda settled onto the couch still in her traveling cloak and gave a sigh.

"You remained longer than necessary," Sarek said. "Did you not receive my message that indicated you could return?"

"I was stubborn." She lifted her arms and pulled both her hood and her head wrap down, left them gathered around her neck and returned her hands to her lap. She appeared small inside all of her clothes.

"Perhaps we both should have gone," Sarek said.

"No." Amanda sat forward as if considering standing again. "That would not have been better." She sat back again. "You didn't say in your message why you wished me to return."

Sarek signaled for tea and put his work aside. "Our son rejected the offer of a bonding to James Kirk."

Amanda stood up and methodically put her cloak over a nearby chair back, sat in the chair opposite Sarek. 

Sarek knew from her lack of speech that it was a continuation of previous lack of speech. "You knew he would do this."

She nodded, raised her head and considered him with sadness.

"He makes everything harder than it needs to be," Sarek said. "Such is the majority of his difficulties."

She looked down. A full tray arrived. Her cloak was taken away. She sipped her tea, put it aside and sat quietly.

"Do you wish to share your experience with Winona Kirk?" Sarek asked.

"She does not like non humans of any kind. Vulcans seem especially disliked. I tried to avoid those topics to reach a companionability with her as a basis for discussion of my real purpose for being there, so I do not know her reasoning in full." She sipped her tea again with the noise she made when it was too hot. "There is no mystery why her children have departed. Although it is to her. The amount of humbling James would have undergo to even get a hearing from her is not something I would ever see him put through."

Sarek nodded. "It is no matter. I misunderstood our son."

Amanda gave him a sympathetic smile. "You were trying to help. Spock will see that eventually."

"You seem to have already deduced that he can not see it at this time."

She continued holding a small smile, nodded.

"I asked him what I could do and he denied that there could be anything I could do," Sarek said. "Perhaps you have an idea."

Amanda looked up. "I would not have held back on any ideas I had in this case."

Sarek nodded. "I thought not, but I also thought it logical to verify."

"I admit I feel I should try and do something for James," Amanda said. "I feel for him acutely after this visit."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you have an idea?" She smiled slyly. Her smile faded and she raised her chin as if in challenge. "If he is going to be with Spock for a time, then he is ours, too."

"He is visiting tomorrow morning. I will meditate on your words in the meantime."

\-------- 8888 --------

A bell rang somewhere. Zienn rose up from meditation but didn't move. He sat cross-legged in the unusually large shrine room of an old but newly rebuilt monastery. The paintings were fresh and bright except for one that was part of an older preserved wall. The golden figure sat with eyes slitted open. The statue smelled of wood resins leeched over centuries in the heat.

Monks arrived. They took their places around a round marble slab, began pouring colored stone powder through funnels, creating a bright pattern of surprising intricacy. They chatted and joked as they worked. It was some kind of harvest rite that would be destroyed and remade again the next year.

Lhundup came in and prepared tea in the corner where pots were being heated with burning wood. 

Someone spoke. Lhundup made his way toward the voice. It was the visiting Rinpoche, or Precious One, asking something. 

It was Lhundup who had decided to come to this particular monastery because of the presence of this honored practitioner. Zienn had made his guide choose their next destination. This Rinpoche was well thought of by Lhundup's guru and so Zienn's guide had been excitedly eager to come here once he'd been free to choose a place.

Rinpoche asked another question of Lhundup. Zienn could understand a little of the mixed languages directly and determined that Vulcan and himself were the topics of conversation. Rinpoche asked Lhundup about Vulcan, repeatedly questioning Lhundup's assertion that many Vulcans could achieve complete removal of physical and emotional desire. That Zienn had long ago done so, as a teen, but this was not an end in itself, just a state for further exploration of thought. Lhundup's tone was one of apology as he repeated himself with different phrasing.

The Rinpoche admitted that Zienn had not moved all night. Apparently he had remained here meditating as well, hopefully for his own reasons. Zienn had been too deep in level nine to notice. He had given himself the task of meditating for no purpose, something he had not done in a decade. 

Of course, meditating for no purpose was itself a purpose. Zienn felt amusement, a rolling warmth of his thoughts. He'd recognized a capacity for amusement in himself ever since the second meld with Spock which he had not prepared properly for. He had been over confident and steeped himself without hesitation in Spock's mind. 

Zienn had begun to question whether amusement was an emotion at all. It didn't feel like one. It felt akin to an appreciation for music or poetry, but in this case an appreciation of the accidental poetry of existence, a perfectly logical awareness of a particular juxtaposition of conflicting elements, often assembling without premeditation.

Zienn stood up and the voices quieted. Lhundup rose too and fetched tea. The Rinpoche reached out a hand and invited Zienn to sit near. He continued to hold out his hand as if expecting it to be taken. Lhundup placed tea on the floor before Zienn and humbly explained that Vulcans did not touch. Ever. 

"And they also do not make exceptions," Rinpoche said with a smile of delight.

Zienn didn't reply. He took in the full fleshed human, his tanned bald head topping a round face, dark brown eyes. Zienn picked up his tea. He was feeling irritable again today, a state he could not find the source of.

Rinpoche said, "So, you have achieved a state of awareness?"

Lhundup translated, but sounded as if he was making a show of it.

Zienn considered that he had to put all of himself aside to seek inward toward other realms, or the fabric-like energy of the universe itself. He nodded. There was nothing special about it.

"Do you spend your time now bringing others to the the same state?"

Zienn shook his head.

"This is not considered your responsibility?"

Lhundup explained, at some length, what Zienn's responsibilities were. The two of them had spoken for long hours on the road and Zienn only half tuned into his guide's thoughts as he explained and answered questions.

Rinpoche turned to Zienn with concern. "This is hard for me to understand, that you do not guide others."

"There are others much better at teaching," Zienn said.

"How do you know?"

Zienn didn't have a good answer. He didn't say anything and silence fell for many minutes.

"What now?" Rinpoche asked Zienn.

"I do not know," Zienn said in the local language.

Rinpoche smiled. "Very good." His voice fell low and appreciative. "Very good. Have some tea."

Zienn accepted a refill and drank it down quickly. An injuriously hot beverage for a human was barely warm for him and he didn't want it to cool at all.

"So," Rinpoche said, still delighted. "You must be very brave to have given up everything for this inner purpose. Very few can overcome their fear to commit to much less."

Zienn shook his head. He had wanted nothing else but to get away from the rest of society, to bury the real world in disciplines. Bravery might have been not doing so.

"Are you different even among your people?" Rinpoche asked.

Lhundup answered without translating, "Yes, I think so."

"Do Vulcans believe in incarnations?"

Lhundup replied, "Not exactly. They store the souls of the dead in a holy place. Some souls are considered to have more presence than others. By some. But incarnation in the way you mean."

Rinpoche sat up straighter. "That is not so different. We have temple guardians here, spirits that inhabit the oracles. But they are select lives, not everyone. Everyone, you say, goes on this way?"

Lhundup nodded. "Unless no one reaches them in time at the moment of death."

"I see."

Quiet fell. Some tourists came in, departed again. More traveling monks came in as the morning passed, Rinpoche spoke to them, delighted in them. They accepted their place in an increasingly long row across from Zienn. 

Rinpoche leaned close to Zienn. "They think they can brave giving up themselves, but they do not dare sit beside you." He smiled broadly and remained close as Lhundup translated. The monks across from them bowed their heads. The new arrivals were sweating still from the exertion of climbing up to the monastery and their heads were shiny and now flushed as well.

"I will speak to you, since you are still here," Rinpoche said happily to Zienn.

It was true, Zienn had not moved. He was finding Rinpoche strangely fascinating. He had no estimation of his wisdom, but he was kind yet unpredictable and Zienn a mild expectation that he might stumble on a useful observation. The alternative was more meditation for which he knew the outcome.

"So, Master Vulcan, you have freed yourself from all desire, but you are here seeking something. That is unexpected, for me. I am glad you are still here. I have questions. If I can find them." He tapped the side of his head.

"I did not want the desires," Zienn said. 

"That means they weren't. Doesn't it?"

Zienn raised a brow. 

"You didn't give up anything, it seems, to reach a state of no desire." Rinpoche looked to Lhundup who scrambled up to fetch more tea. "Interesting journey you are on."

"Small things, I gave up," Zienn said. But it was true; he had done exactly what he had wanted to do. He had, in fact, moved toward his desires when he gave up everything.

"May I ask what small things?"

Zienn said, "I was very young. I gave up knowing what I was giving up."

Rinpoche wrapped his hands around his fresh cup and breathed it in. "Perhaps your journey wasn't difficult enough to impart any meaning."

Zienn wanted to deny this. He'd move up, one discipline after another, brutal with himself, working for weeks at a time to fine tune a mental state. But he was wondering if his issue wasn't with a lack of context. He had steeped himself in another reality here in Tibet in an effort to understand. Something. He wasn't even certain what. He wasn't certain of anything, hence his irritability. At least he understood that. Now.

"Meaning," Zienn said, borrowing the language that had been spoken, but feeling the definition in the minds around him. "Meaning derives from context."

Rinpoche said, "I am deeply grateful to you. You have made me see something new. That one can reach a state of perfect awareness and not transcendence. Which of course results from moving from a place into not-a-place. You were never in a place."

"What do you suggest?"

"I suggest you struggle."

Zienn stared at the garish painting on the far wall of a leering monster face.

Rinpoche said, "The last struggle. The one that drove you here. Start by going back to that one."

Zienn thought that over. "There is more than one."

Rinpoche grinned, reached out and pinched Zienn on the back of his arm where it almost hurt. "I am very glad for you to hear that."

\-------- 8888 --------

A chill breeze pushed fallen leaves along the ground beneath the overhang of the embassy. The clatter of their dried forms sounded unnaturally loud against the stone. Kirk stepped up the marble treads and the door opened as he reached it. He nodded to Sgroud, who bowed in greeting and led Kirk past the busy offices. Kirk felt a bit like he was headed to an official review. He had no idea what Sarek's mood might be, but he knew he wasn't feeling up to the encounter, no matter the mood. The office noises faded behind them. Sgroud opened the door to the den. Kirk pushed his shoulders back and stepped inside.

Sarek stood before a small brazier on a wrought iron stand with an artificial flame inside it. He gestured at the marble tea table surrounded by two thinly padded chairs constructed out of semicircles. "Come in, James Kirk."

Kirk managed a polite smile and took the farther of the pale green seats, assuming Sarek would want to sit closer to the heat. Kirk knitted his hands and waited. He wanted to get this over with, but pretended to be in no hurry.

Sarek sat in the other chair and waited with true patience. Half a minute later a servant came in with a full tea service, including small cakes. The servant poured from the steaming pot and, with a bow, vacated.

"I must make amends for a miscalculation on my part," Sarek said.

Kirk was looking over the cakes. He picked one with a purple fruit center and put it on the silver rimmed plate before him. He brushed off his fingers. "To be honest, there are several things you could be referring to, and I'm not sure which one. But I'm guessing it's the one involving my mother."

"And your Uncle George."

Kirk felt heat under his ribs. "Did you track down my brother Samuel too? He was last on the Deneb Colonies. I think he might be married by now."

Kirk's flippant anger caused Sarek to knit his fingers and sit yet more calmly. Spock had mentioned his father was exhibiting a lot of patience. Kirk wondered if he was seeing that already this encounter.

Kirk didn't mind being angry, but it felt out of place here, immature. He backed off from it and a sense of defeat swept through him. 

"We do things a certain way," Sarek said by way of gentle explanation.

Kirk nodded. He sipped his tea, decided he didn't feel like eating the cake he'd selected, even though it was only a bite and a half of food.

"What happened to the headstrong commander I had under my roof last time?" Sarek said.

Kirk raised his chin. "I don't know. You want him here?"

"I was counting on him, actually."

Kirk made a face of dismay. "Okay then. You really wanted me of all people to marry your son? You changed your mind about me?"

Sarek studied Kirk. "Those are fair questions, but not from the man I am seeking." He breathed in and held it. "I need help with my son." He paused. "And I need Commander Kirk to assist me."

"I'm trying to help with Spock, but he's his own being and I insist on respecting that. I know he needs temple training. I haven't discouraged him, but he hates the idea of it. And I'm determined to be on his side. To the end."

Sarek stared at Kirk. He steepled his fingers and raised his index fingers to rest them under his nose. "May I have your thoughts, James?"

Kirk sat back. His heart sped up but he covered for it. Uselessly. Sarek's hearing would have already detected it. "Why?"

"I was informed that Exalted High Priest Zienn healed you. He has no experience melding with humans."

Kirk turned away, bit into his cake. "He was very careful."

"I am sure."

"I'm healed. I'm just set back a bit. As expected, really. I've been here before. I gotten over it before." He stopped himself from talking more. Repeating this, yet again, was only going to make it even less likely. Kirk frowned at himself, almost bit his thumb, but stopped himself in time, picked up and finished the cake to cover for the motion. 

Sarek said, "I am far outside the bounds of Vulcan propriety doing this. But I am going to push you for a meld. I need you as you were before."

Kirk he shifted his chair back and sat straight, hands propped on the chair arms. "You really think it's that easy?" Kirk had wanted to be mocking, but it came out weak.

"You were like this before?" Sarek seemed stone-like, immune to the maelstrom of Kirk's responses. Kirk found himself drawn to that stability.

"I don't really want to talk about it." Kirk tried to sound easy going but heard himself fail at it. "It brings up my mother again, for one thing."

"I am quite familiar with the human mind."

"One human mind," Kirk said. "You can't insist. I know you aren't allowed to."

"Nevertheless, I am very close to doing so."

Kirk lifted his shoulders in surprise. "Really?"

"May I ask why you resist?" Sarek asked.

"If I don't work this out myself I don't deserve what comes after. It won't be my strength I'm using to go on, something I can rely upon. " Kirk tapped his chest with his bunched fingertips. "This is how I get through. I get through on my own. It's the only way I know I can count on me, next time."

Sarek nodded. "I do understand this. And deeply respect it. But I also wish to ensure your care has been seen to properly. It is my responsibility to do this, especially given the cause of your difficulty. Will you allow it?"

Kirk looked away. He crossed his arms but it felt awkward. The idea that Sarek could fix him to some previous place was absurd. He knew these pathways in his mind. They were old, familiar ones. 

Kirk longed to push away farther, to stand up and pace, to turn away from the scent of the cakes and the tea, hold onto what he had. What he clung to was already too fragile to put forward as a shield against the universe. He had no spare part of himself left to risk. It had been the same after returning from Tarsus. He'd avoided his friends and their painful lack of understanding. He'd switched to doing his schooling from home. He'd pulled what little remained around himself and carefully protected it. And he'd gotten through it.

Sarek hadn't moved, was still exuding an unwavering stability. "I take such responsibility very seriously."

Kirk was trying to remember outgrowing that fragility. It started out as defiance, his mother's certainty that he would not go to Starfleet Academy, or if he did go, he'd return soon enough, tail between his legs. And it had worked. And it worked again when he was tested, time and again. Until Finnegan had forced him to spend his off hours holed up in his dorm room. Even that had worked out. He'd forced it to. He'd never really loved learning until those long hours of escape, roommate and fellow cadets out, elsewhere. It had been a kind of journey, exploring knowledge in a way he'd never done before.

Kirk turned his head away but remained sitting. He'd promised Spock he'd let Zienn meld with him again. This wasn't any different. Even he had to admit that.

"Sure," Kirk said. "Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of a way to work in some action. Along with more angst, of course. But it will be a few chapters.


	22. Memory

Sarek pushed to his feet and came around the tea table. Kirk straightened in his chair slowly, turned to Sarek slowly. He looked up at Sarek with steadiness. Now that he'd given in, he felt better again.

"This isn't going to make a difference. What are you going to do to me?"

"I intend to assess you. The very fact that you will consider allowing a meld at all, after what transpired, indicates High Priest Zienn did an excellent job healing you." Sarek drew himself up, raised his steepled hands. "Are you ready?"

Kirk tilted his head to the side doubtfully.

"A verbal assertion of willingness is preferred."

Kirk frowned. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Clear your thoughts as best you can," Sarek said.

Kirk's heart sped up more. Sarek's previous meld had been gentle. But Kirk had been held down for it. He closed his eyes.

Kirk jerked when Sarek's fingers touched his temple. He stubbornly sat straight again and remained still, listening to the sound of Sarek's robes shifting. His thoughts dissolved at the edges. A steely strength bled into him. He reached for it, wanted it for himself. Sarek gently held Kirk's will static, fixed and passive. He fought that and was made passive yet more thoroughly. His arms fell lax and his will drained as if injected with a hypo full of tranquilizer.

"Show me Commander Kirk." Sarek's voice was measured and hypnotic.

Too many thoughts came to Kirk at once: landings and being under fire, silly off duty interactions under the influence of alcohol or just the post-battle buzz of stress.

"Show me a day on the USS Ranger. A typical day, not an extraordinary one."

Kirk felt himself exhale through his nose. He felt pinned like a bug, but without struggle or stress. He worried he should be concerned, but felt a wave of certainty that he was well cared for wash through him, soothing him. Kirk shook his head. He tried to talk, tried to say that Sarek was too good at this, but he didn't have that much freedom of movement.

Typical day. He was drawn to that thought, a light in the passive grayness.

Again the voice. "Start from the very beginning of the day. I'll assist you in remembering the details."

Kirk wandered through memories, picked a day when he'd actually slept at least six hours. They were patrolling high on the galactic plane. He sat up to the chime of the alarm, rubbed his neck, sore from how he'd slept, got off the bunk. He worried about Spock missing from Vulcan, was angry with him, and pained. He washed up, pulled on a uniform and found the padd Rand must have left in his cabin while he slept. He switched to the ship's concerns, mind sharp and efficient. He laid out his day on the way to the bridge. He'd meet with the crewmember in navigation who was repeatedly provoking someone in security. Usually the crew in that member's department took care of things like this, to avoid attracting the attention of the officers. Something more was likely going on. He laid out his likely lines of conversation, what mood to best project. The lift doors closed and he put himself into thoughts of the bridge status.

All day, one concern after another, planned out, worried over, set aside until action could be taken. He could feel in himself each time that he couldn't now let go the same way. Even now he urged his past self to back up, protect what he had, but from what, he couldn't say. He'd be doomed if he had followed that instinct at the time.

Sarek nudged him onto the next memory. Kirk had no sense of time, only that his neck was straining from holding his head upward. Strength flowed into him, became his, overflowed him. Kirk marveled at how innate it felt to be manipulated this way. A drug, a very very nice drug.

The bridge had been quiet. Kirk had announced surprise drills during second split shift, even though they were on patrol. Just half an hour. He'd not liked how sloppy things had gotten and decided the risk was worth it. He sat in the center seat, projecting a sense of detachment, of being difficult to please. It worked well. The crew's handling of the boards sharpened up. He wondered how long it would last.

The rest of the second shift wound on. He felt the draw of badly needed sleep, resisted it. Checked in with engineering. Chief Long gave him that sour face she did when she thought he was screwing up. He must really look tired. He gave her a smile and a wink that as usual had no apparent effect, which was the sole reason he kept trying it. He oversaw a change in warp engine parameters, then told the conn he was not returning until the following shift.

A long day. One of many that blurred together without this external assistance. He felt slightly dizzy. He was two people, one with far flung concerns, and guilty scars and acute worries about his son, then felt himself coalesce again.

"Show me the other time you were how you are now." Sarek's voice was high above him, speaking over his head.

Kirk resisted. He didn't want to experience it again and he didn't want Sarek to see it. Sarek's rough fingers shifted millimeters on his face, moulding his flesh like clay. Kirk could only breathe and remain upright. He couldn't lift his arms or turn his head. He felt bereft, helpless. Again, the wash of reassurance, cradling, so seductive. Kirk fell still in his mind again, but looked out from within himself at his situation, pinned there. Kirk was forcibly held static on the verge of alarm. This was Sybok, only without ill intent. He wasn't certain there was a difference, couldn't call upon enough of himself to sort it out.

Sarek's presence seemed to rise up in Kirk everywhere through him. He felt both his own paralyzed arms and Sarek's arms holding him. A pervasive sense of the future good infused him, still Kirk fought it, stubbornly, growing angry at it. The lack of ill intent made it more worrisome, not less. It didn't matter the intent. Kirk felt the sense of another identity fade. He blinked his eyes open.

He'd been released and he hadn't noticed. He put his hands up on the table. Stood up.

Kirk leaned heavily on the table, looked up at Sarek. "You are too good at that."

"The intent of this technique is to cause you as little distress as possible. But I miscalculated the extent of your trust."

"You don't understand. I'd prefer you let me trust you rather than coercing me. I was willing." Kirk stepped away, turned back, leaned on the chair with both hands. He felt like he should be shaking, but his body was steady. He lowered his head. The memories from the Ranger were fresh, could have happened minutes ago. He wouldn't be that person now if he were put back in that place. He bit his lips.

Sarek was quiet for a time. "Have I lost your trust?"

Kirk shook his head. He wanted to say yes, because of his innate alarm at being seduced into a helpless state. But he had seen inside Sarek thoroughly enough to know he could not abuse it. "No."

Kirk replayed the fresh memories again. He'd felt alive on the Ranger, at home. The challenges, the injuries, the risk, the uncertainty, all of it was air and water necessary to his life.

He swallowed hard, put his chin to his chest to hide his expression.

"Will you allow me to continue?" Sarek asked.

Kirk remembered repeatedly putting everything on the line to gain the next thing. That seemed reckless and crazy now. He snorted in amused pain.

"Are you going to do something to me?" Kirk asked.

"No, I am still merely evaluating."

"Then there is no point." Kirk pushed straight. He exhaled shakily, set himself straighter, almost at attention.

Sarek's eyes were sharp. "I agree that you are healed, but Zienn does not understand your sort of mind. He seems to have encouraged you to self-concern. Or perhaps your injury did that and he did not rectify it. If your mind is like my wife's this is not a normal state. I do not sense this in your memories. At no point do you think of yourself. You were, in fact, in a constant state of self-denial."

Kirk rubbed his hair back. "I've been accused lately of feeling sorry for myself. But why wouldn't I be?"

"Precisely why Zienn remade you with that in mind. You had more healing to do. But your mind, to me, seems well healed now. Your self-awareness has served its purpose, and is now the source of your distress with your life, which only encourages more self-awareness. You will not get out of this loop easily."

"I got past this before. But I don't know how, really. And, admittedly, it took years."

Sarek stepped closer. Kirk remained still, brave or stupid; it wasn't clear. Sarek raised his hand but didn't touch Kirk's face. Kirk looked down at the writing on Sarek's robe front. He picked out two letters he could recognize, "na" and "stzh". He waited. Curious if Sarek was bold enough to meld without asking a second time.

He was. Kirk felt rough fingers contact and then adjust on his cheek. He felt intense concern, duty in the face of guilt, and then gratitude. He relived the moment on the bridge of Sarek's ship when he was arguing with Riley over the comm, but he saw himself from the side, leaning on the back of the pilot's chair, face intense, body bent from psychic injury. He felt a painful, illogical hope in that being. He'd had no choice but to hope. There were no useful actions to take except to prepare for the tragedy to play out on his home world, an absolute failure of everything he'd been trying to build over the decades: Vulcan helpless in the hands of the military wing of the organization it had helped create but could not control.

Kirk felt a gentle invitation to do the same, place himself and his own pain in Sarek's hands. Kirk felt tired. Again a bottomless strength rose up and filled him.

"Show me the last time you were like this," Sarek said, voice now close to Kirk's ear.

Kirk slipped away, mind lax, but his own doing this time. The farm had such perfect clarity to it, a sharpened image, the light vivid, so welcome and so unreal. He hadn't thought he'd live to see it again, so it lay like the Elysian Fields before him. He'd existed for weeks in a waking dream after returning from Tarsus. Someone would step out with a phaser rifle, he was certain, any moment, they were just there, behind the outbuildings, behind the rock wall edging the hay loft ramp. It could not be as it seemed. He would shake uncontrollably for minutes at a time for no reason. It was a pleasant daydream that had to be a nightmare. And his mother, so spiteful. He managed to avoid her now, had given up that she'd get it off her chest and act normal. But as more information came out about what had happened, the worse she got. It was her reaction to fear to put all the blame for his situation on him. There was no one else alive to take it out on.

A sense of acceptance washed through Kirk. He pushed it away; it was no better than a drug. He felt Sarek adjust to this abrupt stubbornness. Their minds separated. Kirk felt alone again. He was invited to share. He felt a questioning: did he trust him/them? Kirk thought he must or he wouldn't be doing this. This was poor reasoning, a glaring logical fault, in fact. Kirk laughed in his mind at this criticism.

"You do not wish to be weak later as a result of relying on my assistance." Sarek's voice was crisp and close to Kirk's ear. "This is very much the Vulcan way. So I need to understand precisely how you are who you are."

Kirk held his thoughts still. He had long ago buried all this under years of hard service and duty. He'd had no duty then, only guilt for not having burst out of hiding and taken out somebody when the executions first started. He should have done his part. He'd spent months replaying those missed opportunities, uncaring that he'd be dead as a result.

He'd hidden, been too terrified to do anything else. His host family had vanished, the door broken open, things left out. He hadn't been able to breath properly, had walked repeatedly through the house, unable to fathom they would be next on the platform. It was impossible. Kirk felt himself invited into those memories rather than be made passive and dipped forcibly into them. He was invited to trust that he would be taken care of. That was all he had wanted at the time, had cried tears of rage at the lack of it.

Fetid water soaked Kirk's orange highlighted running shoes where he squatted in a discarded shipping crate. He'd hoped the crates' shielding would help confuse a scanner looking for him. It was his only hope, and a stupidly slim one. He'd been with another girl and a boy, but they'd wanted to go to the river, swore they knew where an old boat had been stashed. With the ships grounded, the transporters would be limited, since the colony didn't have an operational station for handling the beaming relay. They had gone their way. And Kirk had gone his, to the edge of the remains of the first settlement, which had flooded out in the early years of the colony. A stupid start ignoring nature that would presage everything else. As he squatted there, Kirk thought they'd deserved the flood. Wished they'd all died.

He crouched in the shadows and reflections of bent, stained metal, in the greenish, blackish sour water and soil that had blown in and hung in moldy clumps at the edge of the shallow pools. Everyone had gone mad. People he'd seen every day were suddenly happy to be issued a phaser rifle, to use it as instructed in the interest of selecting their own loved ones to live. Their eyes held nothing as they pulled the trigger, or sometimes they did hold something: righteousness. Somehow they had become convinced they were right.

Kirk shut his eyes and listened to the wind. But he heard the memories, the phaser fire, set to medium power, to kill in six or seven seconds. The screaming, less so of those killed than their family members and friends, struggling off the side of the platform erected to 'bring clarity to the proceedings.' Kirk put his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. He didn't have to be here at all. If only he'd not been so much trouble. If only someone would care enough to come.

If only his father were still alive, looking for him. He'd be there if he was. He felt so alone and hunted, so frantic and useless to change anything. He'd been so certain of everything back on earth. If only he hadn't been. He promised he'd never be certain again. He promised he'd do everything he was told from now on, no matter how stupid or annoying.

Kirk heard the approach. Wanted it to be the wind, but could not pretend for long. His hunger and thirst and aches fled before the sound of boots, crunching, crunching, stopping, pausing, the grinding crunch of someone turning in place. The interminable waiting. Kirk longed to scream just to end the tormenting wait. He longed to rage and spit and scream, but terror held him motionless.

He was grabbed up. He'd shut his eyes, had not seen them coming.

He was dragged over metal, dropped, heaved up again. Voices were coordinating movements, mocking him and anyone as unfortunate as him. A crystal phaser emitter pressed into the side of his neck, aimed up at his skull. The world grew calm, quiet, the light took on a clarity he'd never seen before. Kirk needed to catch his breath, but didn't dare move that much, his lips burst in little puffs with the effort to breathe, to not breathe. He quivered all over. Someone was standing on his fingers and he couldn't feel it.

More discussion. An example. Can't lose an easy example. No one claims this one, just one of the troublemakers they were sent, the dregs that were all the Federation ever sent them. They never sent anyone useful. Yes, Kirk kept thinking. I'm not worth it. Just leave me here and let me starve. Why even hunt me down? It was madness. But the volunteer soldiers were the ones fed, they didn't think anything of the waste of effort finding him. It mattered more that no one got away because the survivors were privileged, not random.

Kirk made them drag him. He pulled against them, eyes flashing because his voice was forced into stillness by thirst and an irrational and frantic will to live. He obsessively found each face they encountered at the edge of the town, gazed piercingly into each. Are you the one who can care enough? He screamed with his eyes. He knew what it looked like on the platform, had watched from an alley with other teens. When the "extras were eliminated to save the rest" everyone went to gawk, so no one was around to notice them slip away to see for themselves. That was Kodos's greatest speech, that first day. Your continued existence represents a threat . . .

"Are they going to let him?" One of the other boys had asked when the phaser rifle came out.

And Kirk understood how things worked and how badly they could go if no one stronger cared for better reasons. He'd never been outside civilization so he hadn't understood what it provided. He understood that he had been disruptive to the peace back home, and that was why he was unwanted. Kodos had gone on exhorting the crowd about the necessity, the forgone conclusion of the actions they must take. And if they didn't take them soon, then everyone would perish. It was the highest moral good to save the colony. It was the best path. The uncertain shifting stances of the crowd became murmurs. The least useful, those with the least to offer, they would be first, of course.

Kirk had looked away when the phaser fire started. His stomach rebelled and he swallowed repeatedly against his thrashing heartbeat. The other two boys stared, mouths open. Kirk would always remember that. The gaping mouths. One boy had dark skin and his teeth were the brightest, shiniest thing in the alley.

Kirk's arm sockets ached, had been pulled to straining. His sneakers were clotted with dirt and deep green water. He was pushed, stumbling into an airless room in a block building, kicked twice to make sure he stayed down, left alone there on the dirt which appeared to have been scattered over it to cover worse filth, then swept out again. Maybe they were still waiting for sunset for the eliminations. That's how it had been when he had run away. Lots had run away. But with sensors it was impossible to remain unretrieved forever. If only everyone had run, literally everyone. But some had been given power over others and they stayed and followed orders, or made up their own orders and were not stopped from doing this.

Kirk ran from the empty house, the swinging broken door, the curtains blowing in a pleasant breeze through a shattered window, ran until his lungs were fire, then he slowed down, found a pace he could sustain. He'd met others. An old woman had tried to attack him, certain he was hunting her. He'd spent that first night in a goat herd lean-to. The animals had been gone long enough the field was waist high. The native plants grew fast here, owing, he learned much later, to the fungus that was so hazardous to imported plants.

He'd been cold. He'd wished for the simplest things. He sat under a deep dark night sky and did what he hadn't done in years, fantasized that his father wasn't really dead, that it had all been a mistake, after all there had never been a body. He imagined that him and others would come in a Federation ship and his father would have to care. He'd scan the starscape looking for any sign of something in orbit, the telltale flare of reflected sunlight. And then he'd belong to something sane again and the insanity, it'd be over.

The other presence rose up through Kirk as he hung there on that memory. He looked up at the stars from within the companionship of someone unwavering, someone who would not release him alone into that struggle again. The memories were old, had no bearing on the present, and he would not be left alone with them again.

From his airless prison, Kirk heard noises he didn't recognize. He huddled in the corner, ready to fight, he imagined. Fight whatever came in the door. He wasn't going to be pushed around anymore, like the others, like everyone else. He wasn't like any of them.

But what came in the door was an older alien woman in flak armor and medical blues with a scanner. She called to another and Kirk was picked up, too weak to fight, let alone walk steadily. He was given what he now knew was a starvation ration drink, thinned even more with water to make it easier to digest.

Kirk was sat on a high curb under a makeshift shade. He didn't believe in this new reality. He watched strangers moving about. He watched those who had bullied others protest that they were victims when faced with more heavily armed red shirts moving in step, hesitating not at all, eyes hard and with hands pushing all others around. Kirk had glared at the familiar faces as they went by. I won't forget, he told each of them with his stare.

A young Starfleet officer came over, slipped off his helmet and sat beside him, took out a snack bar and nibbled on it. He saw Kirk's half empty ration pack, looked his face over in more detail. Gave him a soft friendly smile. The officer loosened his equipment, slouched back and sighed. Kirk realized that this man was only seven years older then himself. The same amount of time that had passed since his dad had died, and where had Kirk gotten in that time? He fixed that realization in his mind. Every small action that had put him there in that moment. He felt enormously relieved by this understanding. It wasn't the big things, not the promises you made to yourself and whether you made the right ones. It was who you were moment to moment.

"Here, take this. I won it in a bet and you need it more than I do." He slipped something out of his pocket and nudged Kirk in the side with it while keeping it hidden. It was a small, dented can of strong beer with a self chilling tab. Kirk slipped it into his own half-torn jacket pocket without thought. His coat was now heavy on that side. He held his hand over the pocket. It felt good to have something.

"I keep carrying it around but never feel like I've earned it." The man stuffed the rest of the snack bar into his mouth and swallowed it. "What's your name?"

Kirk had looked away because he had realized how awful he must look sucking on this distended, spilling ration pack like it meant life or death.

"Jim."

My friends call my Opal. Don't ask why, please."

Kirk had smiled. Somewhere, the regular world was still operating. People got stupid nicknames. He could be there instead of here. He could get there and stay there or die trying to stay there.

Kirk felt the den of the embassy reemerge around him, felt fingers on his face, on the back of his neck. He was leaning bodily into Sarek's heavy robe and flushed at the realization of it. Sarek consciously loosened his grip, let Kirk pull away and stand straight. Sarek had experienced all of that with him, as him, could not hold back on offering the comfort Kirk would offer himself.

Kirk wanted to ask if they were finished. Even as he wondered, he felt the answer through the meld that they could be if he was ready to be. The meld would become very deep for just a brief moment. If he could be passive enough to allow it. Kirk felt the question reverberate through him. Passive enough. Sarek had just seen the worst memories Kirk had. Certainly Kirk had witnessed arguably worse battles since then, but he'd been prepared for them. This thing had happened TO him, alone and unprepared. Passive was easy once you have nothing left to reveal.

Kirk felt himself become Sarek, felt his hands on Kirk, arms only now beginning to tire. Felt worry, a lot of worry. He was held static, for his own good this time. He was getting too familiar with shifting his thoughts in the meld which was dangerous, undisciplined. Kirk allowed himself to be held, to just become one entity from two overlapping ones. He was instructed to be yet more passive. He didn't think that was possible. He had already let go of his will. He became Sarek again, felt his worry and a familiar plodding helplessness. Felt something shift, as if the floor moved under his feet. And then a cradling as he felt certain he'd lost himself. Reassurance that he was well, just disoriented, and it would pass.

He was two beings again, overlapping, then one of two just touching, then alone. Acutely alone. Kirk bit his lips at the surge of heart ache. Sarek's fingers released his temple, but remained behind his neck.

Kirk was breathing heavily. He straightened.

"Do you wish to sit down?" Sarek asked.

Kirk's pride answered. "No."

Sarek let him go, stepped back to his own chair and sat as if nothing had happened.

"Have another cake, James," Sarek said.

Kirk blinked, stretched his head one way then the other. He sat down slowly so as to not sit down hard. He took took two cakes and stared at them.

"What'd you do to me?"

"Very little." Sarek poured out hot tea into new cups. "Have some tea."

Kirk sensed he was being deflected. He looked into Sarek's eyes for a time, shrugged. He nibbled on a cake and sipped his tea. The memories were fresher than he preferred. He'd completely forgotten about Opal. He wondered if he could find him again. At this point he might be inactive, or lost in the war. But Kirk should find out. Something positive had to come from reliving like that.

"I assume those events are what is behind your personnel record lock," Sarek said.

Kirk nodded, talked just to enforce normalcy. "It's locked so I don't get passed over for assignments because of it. People make assumptions."

"As I did. For which I apologize."

Kirk looked up at him. He was seeing several realities at once, the mundane present, the deep past, Sarek's complex inner mind. The one reality Kirk couldn't comprehend was his own immediate past, the one where his mind hadn't been altered. Sarek sat there before him, solid, and alive, and unexpectedly accessible.

Kirk floundered for something to say, felt things fall into place and remain there, unexpectedly solid. "You've really changed your mind about me."

"I did not comprehend you. But I have since come to do so. You are generous despite events that would make you otherwise. That speaks a great deal about your nature. It is among my wife's best features as well. Logic can become an excuse, and she prevents me being locked into that mode of thought. As needed."

Kirk wondered if he'd rubbed off on Sarek the way he was talking openly, and expected that it would be short lived if so.

Sarek put down his tea and clasped his hand before him. "And I need help with my son."

Kirk felt sympathy for Sarek. "Neither of you have very good options."

Sarek's voice fell quieter. "It has always been the case, it seems."

Kirk felt clearer in his thinking by the moment, put aside the painful memories that bullied for his attention to concentrated on the present. "My loyalty is entirely to Spock. I hope you don't expect otherwise."

Sarek adjusted his knitted fingers. "I did not sense that he has manipulated you at all."

Kirk longed to rest his head on his hand but it seemed inappropriate to prop his elbow beside the fancy tea set. "No, of course he hasn't. He can't bear to meld with me, for one thing."

After a pause, Sarek nodded.

"I think you know Spock even less than you know me," Kirk said.

This brought up the shutters, and a touch of anger. Kirk could read Sarek more easily now. The hints were subtle, but they were there.

"Sorry," Kirk rubbed his eyes. "I'm exaggerating for effect and I shouldn't do that. What do you want me to help with? I'm certainly not tied down completely by my loyalty. Or maybe I should say, my loyalty to Spock is partly to help him get through what he needs to get through."

"I suppose at the moment I seek your guidance of him in lieu of mine since he will not accept mine. You well understand the need for his training."

"Even Spock does. Can I offer you advice?"

Sarek looked up, but with increasing reserve, maybe with a backdrop of anger.

Kirk said, "You need to ease up a little on the absolutes. I understand this is the way things are done in your culture. But you're giving Spock too stark a choice, and he's been considering what it might be like to be free of you entirely and that possibility's outcomes are not all negatives."

Sarek raised a brow. He leaned back in his chair, lost his stiff posture.

"I have no power to change Spock's reality in this situation," Sarek said.

Kirk rubbed his eye again. He felt the same as before, but not. He really needed a nap. This oddly distant feeling could be entirely exhaustion.

"You should rest after such a meld. I am being remiss," Sarek said, pushing to his feet. "You will keep me abreast of Spock. Is that acceptable?"

Kirk gathered his energy to stand, but held back and looked up instead. "Yes, of course. But I feel like I'm missing something here."

Sarek grew fully stoic and Kirk lost the hints he'd been getting. In the meld they'd not approached thoughts of Spock at all. Kirk suspected it would have revealed as much on Sarek's side as on Kirk's. Kirk had been grateful given that his thoughts of Spock were embarrassingly intimate.

"At the risk of angering you more," Kirk said, "please consider treating Spock as an adult. He'll be more responsive to you if you do."

"Exalted High Priest Zienn has already chastised me for not following our traditions in this. I am beholden to those traditions and to him regarding them."

Kirk pushed to his feet. "Well, I hope his return accomplishes something, then."

"Do you require an escort back to your place of residence?" Sarek asked.

Kirk felt unsteady, disoriented, incredibly clear headed. It reminded him of an absinthe hangover. "No. I'm manage. Thanks for trying to help. For whatever you did." He looked up in embarrassingly hopeful question.

Sarek spoke gently. "I made you more like the human I am most familiar with. Perhaps you cannot see it from within, but you are already far more like you were."

Kirk rubbed his head. "You're right. I can't see it. And I don't quite understand what was wrong with me before. I guess that's good."

"Please message me about Spock daily, if you would."

"That often?" Kirk sighed. "I'll have to tell him I'm doing that. All right with you?"

Sarek nodded.

Kirk said, "Spock needs someone on his side more than he needs anything else right now."

This sent Sarek's thoughts inward. He called for the servant to show Kirk out.


	23. Movement

Kirk stepped into his dormitory room. Daylight painted the long narrow room with glowing trapezoids. The desk had his meager things spread out on it, a small stack of shirts, his one pair of shorts, rolls of socks in a row. He put these things away, moved to the end to sit on the window seat. The cloudy light was shifting in large patches over the textured surface of the building across the street. The automatic window shades of the opposite windows tilted one way, tilted back.

Kirk thought about Admiral Coyran, thought that he was probably still erroring on the side of caution. Kirk reviewed each of his encounters with him, set them aside. 

He worried about Spock. Spock had been struggling too long and Kirk knew he was wearing down. He checked the time. Spock would be in class right now. He flipped open his communicator, dialed in Rand's ID. 

She answered him with a reserved tone.

"How are you doing, Rand? Overlander said she was trying to get you assigned to her."

There was a pause. "What do you need, James Kirk?"

"I don't mean to be that transparent. But, yes, I need something. I need to know how long Commodore Stone is going to be on earth."

"Oh. That's easy, but I'll have to get back to you."

"Thanks."

The connection fell silent.

Kirk said, "Have you seen Riley?"

"His doc contacted me, but hasn't sent me an invitation yet. Did you see him?" Her voice grew vulnerable.

"I did. He's doing pretty well. 

"Unfortunate what happened. I wish I could have been there to stop it." She sounded stricter again. "Well. I'll get that info for you and call you back."

"Thank you, Yeoman."

She signed off without another word.

Kirk didn't have a padd here. He swung the built-in monitor over to the window, called up the regulations regarding review panels to determine a reinstatement of suspended commission. 

Representation. The word jumped out at him from the middle of section 2.4.19. Kirk read a more. Skimmed ahead in leaps to judge how much was relevant. He took out his communicator again, held it between his hands as he read over again. He dialed in the embassy's ID. To his surprise he was put right through to Sarek, who he would have assumed had better things to do than answer the comm.

"I could have spoken to your assistant," Kirk said. 

"It is no problem, James." 

Hearing his name spoken that way dented Kirk's gut. He wasn't certain he was going to like getting used to this relationship, whatever it was. 

"I need a referral to a good lawyer and hope you know one."

"We have a very skilled one on retainer that we use for difficult situations our citizens sometimes encounter. I will have her contacted."

Kirk wondered what kind of trouble touristing Vulcans could get into. He smiled faintly at the thought. "Thank you."

"We will, of course, cover all fees."

"No, you won't. I draw the line at a referral."

"As you wish."

They both spoke in easy going tones. Old associates, old drinking buddies, former battle buddies. All of them and none of them.

"That's all I need. Thank you."

Kirk signed off. Put his knuckles to his lips to ponder this new problem. He sighed. He had a rule, but he was going to have to break it. He pulled over the monitor again and applied for credit through one of the banking programs Starfleet oversaw. In his experience watching others, this rarely resulted in a positive outcome, long-term, but Kirk's pride gave him no choice.

That finished, he set a ninety minute timer and swung the monitor aside again. The fatigue of the long meld and his see-sawing emotions was pulling his head to his chest. He slid down the window seat and curled up using the side bolster as a pillow. He didn't bother making the window opaque. The safety of the quiet room in an obscure corner of San Francisco was enough.

The alarm went off seemingly moments later. Kirk rubbed his eyes and forced his stomach muscles to pull him up. Spock was out of class. He'd never before called him at the Academy, but was compelled to open his communicator and dial him in.

"Spock?"

"James? Is everything all right?"

"That's what I'm calling to ask. I wanted to know how you were doing."

He could sense Spock withdrawing. There was the vague noise of others in the background. He worried then that Spock could be over-cared for, and made weak. Or maybe that was Sarek's view on things.

The connection grew quiet. Spock said, "Class is going acceptably. The meeting with my father was completed satisfactorily?"

"It was fine. He gave me a bit of a mea culpa about contacting my mother. Believe it or not. And we talked about your poor options at the moment. Or I did. I tried to get your father to better understand your difficulties. I hope that was all right."

"Yes. That is acceptable."

"What time are you free this evening?" Kirk asked.

"I have a project meeting and I must do a few hours of work for Lt. Grange. It will be late before I return to my room."

"Are you still in trouble?" Kirk heard the commander in his voice too late to withdraw it. He didn't want to pull that on Spock, who got it from nearly everyone else in his life at the moment.

Spock's voice brightened. "No, James, I am not. He has managed to assign me to a project utilizing a paperwork trick."

Kirk laughed lightly. "Okay. You scared me for a moment there. If the Academy had a brig, Grange was probably about to toss you in it." He fell serious again. "I want to see you. All right if I come late?"

"I am worried you will get caught."

"I won't. Call me when you are back in your room, okay? Please?"

"Of course, James."

Kirk went for a run, let his mind drift, tried not to worry about Spock. He was more worried about Spock than he had been. Previously, he'd assumed Spock would cope with his relatively minor problems somehow, now he knew better, knew the magnitude of the problem wasn't the issue. It was how personal it was, how much it reflected on everything Spock couldn't bear about the past, how much it reminded Spock that he didn't have autonomy.

Kirk stopped along his run at the better quality mess at the Starfleet Depot near the water. He sat with his back to a wall and ate while watching the busy room. All kind of uniforms, and jumpsuits went in and out. Many others knew the food was better here, so there were all types. The din of the voices in the high, hard space pounded on the ears. Kirk wasn't in uniform, but a pair of clean-cut, pale-faced ensigns nodded as if he was and sat down with him, proceeded to eat as if on review for it, sitting upright, chewing completely before swallowing. Kirk tried not to smile. He breathed in the air, the voices, felt his limbs dissolving at the edges to become one with it.

Kirk stood, nodded and took his tray away. He walked to the his room in a light mist that made his shirt stick to his upper body. 

Kirk read hearing procedures and some relevant public hearing transcripts. He did this until it grew dark outside. He wanted to know as much as his lawyer would know, if not more. He wanted the lawyer to do the things he couldn't, not the easy stuff.

\-------- 8888 --------

Since it was oh one hundred, Kirk came empty handed to the Academy dormitory. Spock's door opened as he approached. Spock set aside his small personal tricorder which explained how he knew Kirk was there.

On the desk sat Spock's large padd open to ship systems simulations.

"That class starts tomorrow. Doesn't it?" Kirk asked.

Spock nodded.

Kirk felt affection pouring out of himself, and honor at Spock's friendship. "Looking forward to it?"

"Yes and no."

Kirk reached up and parted Spock's hair with his fingers. "You've read enough. I need to sleep. Rest with me. Okay?"

Spock leaned over past Kirk to switch off the padd. Kirk embraced him as he stood up again. Without letting go, the two of them arranged themselves on the bunk, Kirk holding Spock, sharing one pillow.

Cradled in the familiar scent of Spock's skin, the feel of Spock's wiry back muscles, the utilitarian feel of the blanket, and the hard wall at his back, Kirk was out less than a minute later.

Kirk woke to Spock's voice. He was on Tarsus IV. He was running, but he was confused. There was no one with him, but he wasn't alone. That aching for a rescue, for someone in power to care, had an answering presence that had never been there before.

Spock's arms were around Kirk. A hand stroked Kirk's hair back repeatedly, speaking reassuring words about where they were, how they were safe. Kirk held his eyes closed, felt Spock's fingers catch on his hair, tug free, run along his scalp, felt Spock's breath on his forehead.

"It's all right, James." Spock sounded strained, but determined. "You are on earth. It was long ago. It is all over now."

Kirk remained still, slightly amused, but hiding it. Spock needed to reach out of himself, so Kirk passively accepted his attentions, let his body go limp, focussed on Spock's touch.

The hand on Kirk's head paused, slipped under the back of his neck. Kirk opened his eyes onto the dormitory room ceiling. He'd forgotten how many times he'd woken from the same kind of dream into this exactly this kind of room.

"Thanks," Kirk said.

Spock settled on the pillow, arms cradling Kirk's upper body. Kirk put his free hand around Spock's back. He badly longed for a meld with Spock, wanted to feel him the same way he'd felt Sarek. Wanted to replace that presence of Sarek in his memories with Spock. He felt a bit like he'd cheated on Spock, and didn't dare try to explain this longing. Instead, he let himself be drawn down into the well of Spock's peaceful calm, accepted it for its own wonder.

Kirk had drifted off. Had to put an effort into speaking. "What time is it?"

"It is oh six hundred forty one."

"Good." Kirk floated and thought about the day ahead. He expected he'd hear from the lawyer, at least with an appointment date and time. He might hear from Rand. He considered what the review committee would want to see to be convinced to give him his status back. He did this slowly, idly, considering three scenarios: that they wanted to give it back and needed an excuse, that they were uncertain, and that they had already decided it should remain revoked. The A-3 stood out as a problem. He'd passed, had not been labeled a risk, but there were likely notes about his mental state at the time. Loomis had said Kirk should contact him for a followup. Kirk should taking advantage of that offer.

Kirk slept again without intending to. He snapped awake with a uniformed Spock bending over him, touching his shoulder. "I have an oh eight hundred class time. I should have woken you sooner. It will be harder for you to depart undetected later in the morning."

"I'll wait two hours until everyone's elsewhere." Kirk rolled over, hugged the pillow.

Spock sat beside him on the bunk and rubbed Kirk's back.

"I'm all right, Spock. Go on."

"You are certain?"

Kirk rolled over. "Yes. Please go to class." He adopted an unyielding tone. "Don't be late." 

Kirk watched Spock pick up his padd and depart. He didn't feel envious of him. He had no desire to repeat Starfleet Academy. He sat up, picked up Spock's older padd and used it to catch up on the last week of Fleet Feeds.

Kirk went to his own small dormitory mess for an early lunch. His stomach was growling audibly as if he'd hiked all the previous day. He was pulling out his communicator as he entered his room, dialed in Psyche's general contact ID. 

"I'm hoping to get an appointment with Dr. Loomis," Kirk said. "I had an evaluation with him a few weeks ago and at that time he urged me to set up a time with him for a regular therapy session."

The line was quiet for half a minute. Unlike most departments, beings answered the comm, not an AI. Kirk would have preferred an AI.

"You are referring to H. Loomis in Intelligence?"

Kirk smiled at the doubt in the voice on the other end. "Yes. If you would leave him a message with my name, he'll likely remember. I can be reached at this transmitter ID."

The receptionist said to stand by. Kirk put the communicator down and rearranged his things again, more logically, socks in the drawer, shirts on a cupboard shelf. His running shoes needed to be sanitized, and he hadn't noticed how badly they were wearing out. They were supposed to be nearly indestructible.

The voice returned, asked if he could come to Med Psych that evening. Kirk scooped up the communicator and confirmed an appointment for seventeen thirty. He wondered if Loomis worried he was in a crisis, but decided it wouldn't matter for long. He moved onto contacting Coyran's office. 

He couldn't get past the AI, or he could, but for four weeks from now. He tapped his fingers on the closed communicator. Opened it again. Asked the same AI if it had access to Lt. Ducal's calendar. It offered him an appointment for two days from now. He accepted it and decided that he had better stick to the logistics of arranging a panel so as to not piss off his not even assigned lawyer. 

Kirk changed his clothes, put on his smelly shoes, and went for a run to avoid worrying about Spock.

\-------- 8888 --------

The Advance Ship Design course was in the Academy Annex, a wing near the Academy campus that was attached to a Starfleet administrative building. The corridors were narrower, and they had a closed office scent to them. Spock arrived early. The classroom doors slid open onto an auditorium hall that seated a hundred and twenty-four. People were approaching from behind. Spock made his way up the side stairs and slid into a seat in the middle row. He received furrowed-brow glances from the officers already seated, mostly taking stock of his pale, first-year cadet uniform.

Spock opened the most general of design manuals on his padd and looked down at it. Two third-year cadets in crisp dark blue uniforms came in the middle doors, headed up the stairs. More attendees streamed in, chatting, laughing. They quieted as they slid into the rows around Spock, glanced at each other. 

"That's my seat, Cadet. Shift up." 

Spock looked up at a young ensign in red. He was short and barrel chested with brown curly hair. Spock glanced around and saw that the other two cadets had gone to the most upper row. 

Spock stood and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Sure you're in the right place? Didn't get lost on the way to Intro to Mapping or something?"

"No, sir. I am certain."

Spock slid along the row and went to the back. There were empty rows before the last row where the two other cadets were watching him approach like Le Matya sizing up their prey. Spock sat on the end three seats away. He had witnessed the senior students harassing his fellow first years. But other than overhearing unkind comments about himself at a distance he had not been bothered. Up close, they seemed to always have somewhere they needed to go. He did not expect that to last, and the looks he had just gotten indicated that expectation was wise.

Captain Chanel strode in and the room quieted. She picked out someone in the second row and said, "Rogerson, trying again are we? Or do you just like me that much?" The students near Rogerson smirked. Chanel muttered to them, "Don't get comfortable. You're next."

She lifted her eyes and glanced across the back row, picking out each of the three of them there. Spock expected a comment to come their way, but none did.

The table lit up in front of Spock. He set his padd aside to watch the shallow, forced 3D screen within it display a Constitution Class ship's bare super structure. 

"Ship design isn't engineering. It might be an art, if you are into that sort of thing. What it really is is an evolution. And you are all here, I suspect, because you want to work on the next big, shiny, sexy project. The redesign of the ship class floating before you, for example. Much rumored and probably to be much delayed. Well, tough noogies, you probably won't. But that's okay, the real impact on Fleet's effectiveness is in the rework of her workhorses. Not those pin-up girl giant ships, so expensive we can't build more than you can count on two human hands."

The ship on the screen continued to rotate slowly, move in and out to enhance the sense of depth. "However, we get our learning from those sexy darlings at the top end. Partly because someone is usually willing to take a few risks. So, we will start by studying those today. The wild ideas, the tradeoffs, what's working and what isn't. Strap in, this isn't going to be for those who can't pay attention. But first I want to know what kind of yahoos we have here. So, take the quiz on the screen."

Spock's display switched to show a filled in ship with cutaway fields he could slide across the model and adjust to be flat or cylindrical. There were flashing active points on the model. He needed to navigate through these, marking which were truly problem areas, and what kind of problems they likely marked.

Spock slid the model around, studied the four areas in access channels, looking for maintenance or heat or field interference problems. He marked some of each. He didn't know how much time he had, so he moved rapidly on. One of the hot spots was in a general area of the living space between lift tubes, specifically where one set of lifts provided access to another set, what in earth architectural terms would be called a sky lobby. It wasn't obvious what the issue was. He moved on. He wished to do well, but only to prove to himself that he'd chosen the right topics to study in preparation.

Spock marked more spots, found that there were dozens of flashing areas internally. If he hadn't figured out the slicing interface, he'd have not seen them. The screen did not have any timers running. A few students were swearing under their breath.

Spock had looked at all of hot spots he could find, marked sixty percent of them. He made notes on eight of the others, wild guesses that would have appalled his logic teachers. He returned to the sky lobby, zoomed in to drop himself into that spot, turned the simulation around several times. 

There was no deck number label. That was an interior design violation. But it was clear why. There was no viable place to put one of the proper size. The bulkheads across from the lift openings were more distant than the standard allowed for, or were interrupted by other lift doors or portholes. Spock noted all this, suggested etching the deck number on the deck itself, facing each of the lift sets. He closed out the quiz and put his padd back before himself.

The class was given ten more minutes to work, then Captain Chanel started in, talking fast and highly opinionated, scoffing at the stupidity of some bad designs, respecting others that had failed for their well-intentioned origins. Spock toyed with his customized index to the design decision database he'd created, using her opinions to adjust the parameters on it.

Three and a half hours later, Chanel switched gears. She leaned on the front table, which showed off that her aging arms still filled her uniform sleeves. 

"This is a hands on class. You will each complete an on-board project. Start right now finding a venue in which to do that project. It's not my responsibility to hold hands on this. You are all resourceful beings or you wouldn't be here. That's it until Friday. Do the assignments."

Chanel lingered, chatting with students who gathered around the high table at the front. Spock waited for the auditorium to partly empty before heading down the side stairs. Some students remained in their seats, leaning over to chat with old acquaintances. Spock sensed attention turning his way, even when eyes did not. 

"Cadet," Chanel said in Spock's direction, interrupting the flow of conversation around her. "Come with me."

Spock followed her out, followed by the eyes of everyone else.

They were two corridors away in the administrative area before she spoke. "I've not heard a peep out of Kirk." She turned left abruptly and stepped into a round pod of six offices. She stopped before a sparse desk with just a few things shoved on one shelf at the end.

She turned to Spock and put her hands on her hips. "So?" she demanded.

"I do not have a useful response, Captain."

"Try anyway."

"James says he is not ready for a review hearing. I am not in a position to override him. My inexperienced impression is that your harangue of him may have backfired."

She studied him, his brow, his chin. She looked away and frowned. Someone came into the pod behind them.

"I don't think you understand how little time you have."

Spock shook his head. "I am not skilled in this area, time sensitive or not, Captain."

She sounded angry. "You better get skilled, and fast. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Spock said, because he must respond.

"Then maybe he shouldn't be in the class," said a voice.

"I expect you to mind your own business, Lieutenant Rosco," Chanel said. 

Spock stepped back out of the way. The lieutenant was a tall human who stood naturally with his broad shoulders pinned back. 

"I didn't hear you acknowledge that, Lieutenant," Chanel said.

"Yes, Captain." His gaze slid over and he glared at Spock.

"That was convincing," Chanel mocked. "Spock here scored one point higher than you on the quiz and finished ten minutes faster."

"Who? This cadet."

"Yes. Do you have some purpose to this visit, Lieutenant, or are you just interrupting me? Wait over there until I'm through." She indicated across the pod with a toss of her head.

She tugged on Spock's arm to pull him around to face her. "I'm expecting you to report to me on Friday after class. Understand me?"

Spock felt as hapless about this as he did about temple training. He considered explaining that he may not be able to even remain on earth.

"Got some lame excuse, Cadet?"

"No, sir. Friday."

She patted his arm. "Okay. Go on."


	24. Ready for the Fray

The lobby of the Starfleet Psychological Health and Profiling Center section of Med Psych had a definitive outflow of bodies at seventeen hundred twenty five. Kirk used a kiosk to check in and was directed to the fourth floor. Above ground. That was promising. Outside the fourth floor lift the human-only reception desk stood unoccupied. Kirk waited at the desk and half a minute later, Loomis appeared from the lift. He strode rapidly on his lean, short legs.

"Kirk," Loomis said, sweeping by. "I reserved a therapy room."

Kirk followed at a more leisurely pace. He had intended to simply inform Loomis that he'd been returned to normal and request that Loomis make an addition to his file. But at the door to the therapy room, Loomis wore an earnest expression. He lifted a hand to invite Kirk to step in ahead of him.

This room had a lot of blond wood, some neutral decorative objects. But it had the same permanently reclined therapy chair oddly in the center of it.

"Thanks for making time for me on such short notice," Kirk said. He settled back into the chair, rested his head back. The angle made his legs relax, which made his heart relax.

Loomis didn't have a slate today, or even a padd. He adjusted the height of the office chair and sat back in it. "How are you doing?"

Kirk knitted his fingers together over his abdomen. "Pretty good."

"I'm glad to hear that." Loomis's tone gave no indication that he worried Kirk might be wasting his time if that was the case. "After you left here, did you go see your officer in the hospital?"

"I did. He regained consciousness in as bad of shape as I feared he would. Very distressed. He's since been sent to immersion treatment. I saw him the other day as part of his recovery. I'm not sure how much I helped. I hope it wasn't too soon."

"I can't speak for his therapy regime in particular, but that's typical if you are considered to be a positive influence on him or he mentions your opinion to his therapist a few times. You won't see a sudden change, usually. Your acceptance of him works ongoing."

"I'm glad to hear that. I don't want him to give up."

Loomis crossed his legs, put his latched fingers over his knee. "How did it make you feel to see him?"

"Regretful. He got used up and is going to get spit out. And I know that happens to a lot of people, especially in the lower ranks sent into battle. But nevertheless, this feels like a failure that should be shared more broadly than it's going to be shared."

"You don't think he's responsible for himself?"

Kirk heard the therapeutic neutrality, detected the underlying question aimed at Kirk himself. "Normally, I'd say absolutely yes. But Riley was a special kind of guileless that I wish there could be room for. Maybe outside of wartime he'd have fared better."

Loomis sat straighter. "You seem to think there should be room for ideals, in general."

"We can send out machines if that's not the case."

"Do you see yourself in Riley?"

"I don't-" Kirk made a face. "He and I disagreed strongly on whether Starfleet could do wrong. We disagreed on trusting the line of command above us, blindly, based on that ideal. But, I'll admit, I have to believe Starfleet can do a lot of good or I'm lost. I believe it, but I think I do so with a cynical pragmatism." Kirk shook his head. "So, to answer that: no. I just want to be able to have someone like Riley around."

"You were also concerned about your relationship with your lover. How is that going?"

Kirk smiled faintly. "When I left here, I wasn't doing very well. How long did you think I'd make it?"

Loomis's gaze shifted away. "Is this in service of answering the question?"

"Yes."

Loomis rubbed the back of his neck. "This is not an official opinion, but five days, maybe a week."

Kirk smiled more. "I didn't make it two days." He quickly added. "I know you told me to stay here. I remember clearly."

"Want to tell me what happened?"

Kirk stared off at the blond wood of the shelving across from him, at a swirled red vase. "Before, when I was visiting my crew I became what they wanted to see. I became someone not crippled by fear. But started to fail, and once it started it failed completely. A friend took me home. Called the Vulcan embassy. Spock brought a healer he trusted."

"You were not in the mood to allow a meld from just anyone, as I recall."

"And I did have difficulty." Kirk remembered that terror of the presence there beside Spock. Remembered rising up out of the fear because he needed to reach Spock, who had fallen into a state of self defeat. "With Spock's help, I managed to give in and allow it."

"And the meld was all right in the end?"

Kirk thought back to the sense of overlap of his will with another, of intrusion so finely controlled he couldn't doubt the skill and benevolence behind it. Now that he contrasted Sarek's mind and Zienn's he wondered that they were of the same race. "It was. Except he didn't have much experience with humans. Spock's father, the ambassador, had to do a little adjusting to get me back to myself. Otherwise, I'd have been here sooner to see you."

Loomis tilted his head. "What kind of adjustment?"

Kirk took a deep breath. "Well, I wasn't injured, or fearful anymore after the high priest's healing meld. But I was feeling sorry for myself. Sarek thought this was a reaction to being in pain and fear too long. I became focussed on me as a form of self preservation. But I normally wouldn't have been."

"How did he know? Had you melded with Sarek before the attack?"

Kirk crooked his mouth. "No. He wasn't very fond of me before all this. Let me know it in purely logical, well-enumerated terms. No, in the meld he had me recall a typical day in command, in every detail I could. That's how he decided what needed to be altered." Kirk lifted his hands. "It was like a switch getting thrown. I'm suddenly doing what I used to do, planning, learning relevant everything I can, keeping an eye on things. I didn't have to take care of myself before the attack because taking care of everything else took care of me automatically. After, I worried too much about myself, and everything was failing to happen and I was suffering despite being my number one priority."

Loomis rubbed his chin. "Interesting. You believe you are back to normal?"

"I'm better than normal. I learned some things while I was struggling. I found patience with myself. I've never had much of that. And I learned what others go through when they fixate on their own needs instead of looking ahead. As a leader, I didn't understand that before."

Loomis uncrossed his legs and sat back. "So, I'm not supposed to do this in the normal course of things, but I'm going to tell you that you seem good. I didn't put you in a sensor chair so I don't know if this is entirely an act, but I'm certain I'd discern if it was. You are too unpretentious right now." His eyes moved over Kirk. "Something you need from me?"

Kirk held back on a smile. "An addition to my file would be wonderful. And maybe you'd be willing to be a witness at my review panel. The second might be asking too much."

"No. It's not." Loomis made a face of consternation. "But I might have messed up my effectiveness to you in that capacity. I filed a complaint that your case had been sent over here. It's a tricky thing to do, making waves like that, and something I've never done. The thing I'm supposed to do if I'm uncomfortable with an assignment is hand it off and that gets logged and supposedly looked into. But you'd already expressed concern about one of my colleagues. If the most empathetic turn down questionable cases so they are reassigned, that results in the most vulnerable being handled by the least caring. So, I took your case, assuming I could harm you less, or at least as little as anyone else here."

"You didn't harm me at all. Not that I could tell."

Loomis frowned faintly as if Kirk's opinion on this wasn't relevant. He pulled out a micropadd the size of his palm, swiped a note out on it. "I just want to warn you that my name may be mud over in the Admiral's office."

Kirk considered that. "I think I can work with that, but I'll let my lawyer decide what's best. What'd you file?"

"An HU-731. A human rights violation."

"I appreciate that you felt the need and followed through."

"I might have over reacted. It might not have been just your case, but others I've handled that have added up in my mind. Because we have to keep everything secret, others feel they can misuse us." Loomis sat back. "I'd like to see you get back into a command. So, whatever your lawyer thinks I can do, let me know."

"Thanks," Kirk said with feeling.

Loomis continued to look at his palm. "When you entered the Academy you were given a CANA, a Cognitive And Neurological Assessment. Do you remember that?"

"Was that the long test with the lights and the drugs and the touch stim?"

"Yes. It was experimental at the time, but it's been formalized since. On the way out, set up another one. Repeat it so the review panel has both numbers. Assuming that you expect to have similar numbers."

"If I don't, I need to know."

Loomis nodded as if this confirmed something for him. "Anything else you want to talk about? Anything else happen recently that stands out for you? Creates a strain for you?"

Kirk smiled and rubbed his chin. "The ambassador wanted me to marry his son." Kirk shook his head. "That certainly stands out since it came completely out of the blue. I'm still not entirely sure what he was thinking. He stated his reasoning, but it seems thin. He sent his wife to go talk to my mother, without telling me." Kirk rested his head back. "His motives for doing it were incorrect. But the idea's been working on me. Spock doesn't want a Vulcan bond, but that doesn't mean we can't get married in the earth sense. So, in a short time it's gone from a wild idea I never imagined agreeing with to, well, why not? I don't plan to be with anyone else."

"What does marriage mean to you?"

Kirk rubbed his hair back. "I always thought it a case of accepting too little and not ever looking for more. But maybe I've grown up, hit that magic twenty five. Or maybe Spock is just more of a being than I could ever have imagined being with so my previous worries are moot."

"He's fairly young. You don't find that to be a mismatch at times?"

"He is and he isn't. He's a rock, even when facing down violence and death. His mind is phenomenal. But, yes, he still makes oddly youthfully mistaken judgement calls about things. And he has a few weak spots that he'll grow out of. So, he's a bit of a younger brother, maybe. He learns so fast, I better not learn to like that aspect of our relationship too much."

"You have an older brother. Do you see him?"

"No, he was supposed to take over the farm, settle down and keep Mom happy. But one day we realized all of his studies of botany were actually an escape route and he took his wife and family and went to a colony world. Leaving me stuck with an even more long-suffering mother." Kirk breathed in and out, bit his lip. "I suppose he did what he needed to do. But a little more warning would have been nice. Although, we would have had a year of fighting instead of one week. Maybe better, actually."

"Any desire to see your mother?"

"No."

Kirk met Loomis's neutral gaze. "The best thing I ever did was giving up on the dream that she could be someone else. That is a downside of marrying Spock. I suspect his family would insist she be there since they are heavily invested in the idea of clans. According to the feed interviewer who tracked her down when I was in the news more, she's appalled at the idea of Spock and me. My best hope is she'd refuse to attend."

"When Spock's father, who had been vocally disapproving of you, asked you to bond with his son, what did you feel at that moment?"

"That I'd walked into the wrong house, or stepped through a dimensional gate. He had once listed out literally everything he disliked about me. Some of them I consider my best qualities. And then he accused me of taking advantage of Spock."

"Do you?"

"I sort of have to. But not for my sake. Most of the time. I don't think you can be close to someone without an exchange of taking advantage. It's part of being vulnerable to someone. You have to trust they will act fairly to the partnership, which on one occasion may mean taking more than you give when you need to, but giving more the rest of the time." Kirk shook his head with a laugh. "Maybe I'll just make a terrible husband."

"What do you imagine Spock would get out of marriage?"

"Good question. Not good I haven't considered that." Kirk tipped his head back again, tried to relax. "I know Spock wants to find his own way. And that's important to nurture in him. I'm sure he's going to keep changing and growing. And he could grow out of me. That's what Sarek hoped he would do." Kirk heard his voice growing less certain. He stopped talking, looked away. "All right, we may have hit something here."

"You want marriage to lock him in?"

"No. Absolutely not. If he needs to move on, I can't do anything about that."

"Do you think Spock has the same concerns? That you will change and grow out of him?"

Kirk felt his brows go lower. "I wouldn't have thought so." Kirk's voice grew quieter. "He came back from Vulcan once. Had been treated with a long meld by this same high priest. He healed Spock from horrible attempts to make him more Vulcan when he was very young. And I didn't know who he was. He was suddenly emotionally self-contained, and as un-present as any Vulcan you might see on the street." Kirk stared at the sparse shelves, thought back. "I . . . automatically assumed he didn't need me anymore. It wasn't fair to him, but it was such an obvious assumption. I guess that means I think of myself as a weakness for him." Kirk paused. "I don't know. Maybe I still do."

"And if he gets stronger, he won't need you."

Kirk stretched his shoulders up, felt deep uneasiness roll over his spine, down his back.  
"I'd give it greater than even odds," Loomis said, "that Spock is in the same emotional situation."

Kirk narrowed his eyes and considered that. "I don't know."

"You are older than him, but you are still relatively young, and you're human and you change faster than he does. You aren't fixed in place, either. You are at the beginning of your career, a career that will change you a lot as you move up. A career that forces you into life altering events, often."

"He is trying very hard to catch up to me. So we can be assigned to the same ship." Kirk closed his eyes. "This makes marriage a terrible idea."

"It does?"

"Yes. If we aren't right for each other anymore, why have the added complication of separating?"

"Why not see it as a demonstration that you are going to put real effort into making it work?"

"I don't know what I see it as. It if doesn't work it doesn't work. I thought I saw it clearly, but that's before you made me think about it."

"Maybe that's a sign I'm not helping anymore."

Kirk smiled. "I shouldn't barrel in without thinking, especially into something like this. Especially to someone who deserves extreme care in these things."

Loomis shifted forward as if to stand. "You don't deserve the same care?"

"No. I'll get by. I always do."

"Might I recommend not framing it in those terms to Spock? That's a recipe for emotional uncertainty right there."

"I don't want him to worry that he has too much responsibility for me."

"Why not?"

Kirk started to answer and stopped. He remembered the recent morning when he woke to Spock's efforts to comfort him from his nightmare. "I don't know exactly. Maybe it's me who doesn't want him to have too much responsibility for me."

Loomis put his hands on the chair arm to push to his feet. "Sounds more likely. But I'm slipping out of therapist mode after a long day and we should stop."

Kirk rocked up and swung out of the strange reclined couch. "Thank you for making time for me so soon. I deeply appreciate it."

"I was relieved to get the chance. And very relieved to see you are all right. That wasn't expected, I'll admit, even though I shouldn't ever admit that. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

Kirk thought about the meld with Sarek, how he'd stepped in and made himself part of Kirk's past. His hesitation replied for him.

"You could make another appointment."

Kirk rubbed his hair back. "I need time to think about this one." Kirk put it aside, mostly. "I'll be fine, I expect."

"You don't want anything dogging you if you end up back on a mission."

Kirk pulled his shirt straight. "I always seem to come out of it alive. Whatever it is."

Loomis' expression softened. "Alive and ready to head back into the fray seems to be the real trick."

Kirk stood straighter, almost at attention. "Yes. But I am ready for the fray again. It better be ready for me."


	25. Room to Lead

Kirk triggered open the door of his dormitory room when it chimed. He'd been considering getting dinner soon. His mind still worked over his session with Loomis and the chime cut into those thoughts, nearly startling him.

"Spock."

"I have brought _you_ dinner this evening," Spock said.

Kirk's spirit grow lighter at Spock's unexpected presence. He held back on what he feared would be an overwhelming smile. "You're done at the Academy already this evening? How was Chanel's class?"

"I have made time for you," Spock said. "And the Advanced Ship Design course was acceptable."

Kirk cleared his things from the table, set out utensils. The scent of Chinese food encouraged his stomach to grumble painfully. Spock put down the container, removed his outer sleeveless robe. He took a seat and sat staring at the table.

"Just acceptable?" Kirk took up chopsticks and ate directly from the popped open box of mountain fern. "Chanel is supposed to be very good at that topic. What'd you cover today?"

"The major design decisions of the most recent revision of the Constitution Class and how effective or not they have turned out to be."

Kirk pursed his lips. "Sounds interesting. Actually."

Spock nodded. He served himself what appeared to be a symbolic dollop of rice and garlic quorn. Kirk considered asking him what was wrong, but held back. Something was obviously wrong and it would likely become clarified on its own.

Kirk slowed his eating, exchanged the box of fern for the stir fried bell peppers which had been cut large and easy to pick up. They were browned but still raw in the middle, crisp and watery, tasting of summer.

"James." The word had burst out of Spock and then he his brow indicated distress. He put his chopsticks aside and sat with his hands in his lap.

Kirk waited.

Spock looked up. "Do you wish to return to service in Starfleet?"

Kirk replied gently, "I do."

Spock looked away and down. "May I ask what you feel you need to accomplish before requesting that a review hearing be scheduled?" Spock tried to say more, exhaled audibly. He started again. "I realize you do not feel ready, but is it possible you underestimate your abilities, that you are being too strict with yourself, and that perhaps you are more than adequate for the position you wish to have?"

Kirk settled back in his chair. "You don't have much experience with line officers onboard a ship. But from what you've seen, what do you think? You think I'm fit enough?"

Spock looked up. "I think you are currently better than average. I think you make the mistake of expecting to be like you were and see only that you are falling short of that, not the positives you can offer."

Kirk felt his eyes getting hot, not out of sadness but out of painful affection for Spock. He rubbed the corner of his left eye.

"I am not-" Spock looked away again, brought his shoulders up and erased the emotion from his face. "I think that is the crux of it. You are facing a difficult trial, but you will do better at it than you imagine. I think your imagination of it is the actual difficulty."

"Spock." Kirk pointed at his own chest. "If I'm willing to trust that you are right about that regarding me? Can I ask you to do the same about yourself?"

Spock frowned with only his forehead. "I suppose it would be hypocritical if I do not at least consider it." He breathed slowly in and out over the course of nearly a minute. "I know myself. I am Vulcan and trained at length to know myself. I cannot be certain that you know yourself to the same degree. So I do not believe the same applies to me."

Kirk kept eating. He didn't want to start an unrelated argument, so he let that go.

Spock said, "What I do know is that you are still a fine human. And you should still be in Starfleet." His voice lowered. "I do not know how to assist you in getting there. I hesitate to ask your advice in how best to help you, as that seems illogical."

Spock knitted his fingers and put them to his mouth. "What can I do for you, James?"

"Nothing. I just need you."

"That is overly poetic and ineffectual in practice."

Kirk's eyes were burning again. "Oh, my darling Vulcan. You're trying so hard."

Spock looked down. He sounded bleak. "I was ordered to."

Kirk held in a chuckle. "Doesn't matter why." He picked up the box of mountain fern again. "I'll schedule a hearing, okay?"

"You will?"

"Yes." Kirk smiled and chewed. "And how can I help you in return?"

Spock's gaze became distant again. "I do not think you can."

Kirk put the box down, set the chopsticks across it so they caught in the flap corners.

"Your father is very worried about you."

"He always has been."

Kirk remembered that worry acutely, along with tantalizing snippets of logic as to why. He puzzled again over Sarek's expectation that Spock was manipulating him. Spock never tried to change anybody. It was actually a weakness in him.

"He wants me to report to him on how you are doing," Kirk said. "I haven't yet. But I should do so today yet."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"That you're the same."

"You may tell him that I am greatly pleased that you agree to a hearing."

Kirk nodded. "I can do that. I'm sorry I agreed to report to him. I really am on your side."

Spock nodded vaguely.

"He is trying, Spock. He just doesn't know how to reach you. Or is too stubborn to adapt."

"He fears I will become my brother. It has colored everything as long as I remember."

"Beings tend to over-learn when very bad things happen. Though with your father's adherence to logic, I'd like to think he'd be less susceptible." Kirk picked up his food again. "I'll send you the same message I'm sending to him. That okay?"

Spock nodded.

Kirk held out the box he was eating from. "You better have some of this before I eat it all."

They exchanged boxes. Spock ignored his plate and began eating as Kirk did.

Kirk wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin back into his lap. "Would you feel better if we got married?"

Spock's brows rose and stayed there.

Kirk said, "I mean just earth married. Maybe there's not much point in that. I don't know. I thought I'd offer."

Spock stared at Kirk over the flopping lid of a box of Chinese food. "I have never considered it."

"I have to assume your father would agree to it, given his other offer. It would mean you were fully accepted by your clan for them to acknowledge us, officially."

"I do not require my family's sanctioning in any form. But perhaps a formal, legal recognition is something you wish for."

"I don't know. I guess I just no longer have an aversion to the idea."

Spock spoke with great care. "My needs are being met by our current relationship, but I realize it might not be the same for you. I understand that you may require more certainty given your difficulties and if so, I shall consider the idea."

"You don't need to consider it for me, Spock."

"I see." Spock nodded, paused, nodded again. "I am relieved and pleased that you are taking a positive action toward repairing your career."

Kirk wanted to stand up and take Spock in his arms, promise him everything would be all right now. He held back. Partly, he wanted to give Spock space to lead again.

"What if my review panel decides to reject my application?" Kirk said.

"Even then I believe you are better off."

"How so?"

"Because you could then move on."

Kirk again felt overwhelmed by affection for Spock. "True."

"But you need to decide soon. You will lose the opportunity entirely by not taking action."

"You're rightly pointing out that it's already all or nothing."

Kirk put his chopsticks down and stood up to get the open bottle of wine out of the chiller. He poured out two glasses. He pushed one of the glasses to Spock.

"I already have an appointment with Coyran's office," Kirk said. "For the day after tomorrow." He smiled faintly, acted dismissive. "Just with one of the office assistants."

"You didn't say."

Kirk thought again about the meld with Sarek, how it had satisfied some deeply personal lacking that had dogged him since he was young. It made him uneasy to consider explaining any of it to Spock, which he knew was a warning sign, knew he couldn't put off explaining indefinitely.

"I have a lot to arrange yet." Kirk smiled, felt it must look pained. "You are helping me, Spock. Same way I think I help you, by being here for you, no matter what. I can't go with you to the temple. I can't rewrite the past so it won't be so painful for you to be trained. I can tell you the same thing you told me, that you will be better at what you need to do than you think."

Spock closed his eyes and spoke quietly. "Perhaps."

They sat in silence. Kirk had a bad suspicion that Spock was neglecting project meetings, but he did not want to treat Spock as if he wasn't allowed to make those decisions himself. Kirk stood and put away the leftovers.

Kirk said, "If you have studies to do, I'll read up on hearing procedures and catch up more on the Fleet feeds and unofficial chats. I saw a rumor that Vice Admiral Argot is competing for the top spot at Fleet, is trying to paint Coyran as too soft, has started questioning his decisions in public, not just in private. This also implies that it's become generally known that Pritchard is no longer in charge."

They sat companionably across from one another, legs overlapping.

"This is better," Spock said. He sat with his oversized padd propped on the edge of the table. The fading light from the window made his uniform glow, made his cheekbone on that side look sharply cut.

Kirk forgot himself. Got back to the conversation. "What is better?"

"At your dormitory I do not have to worry about Lt. Grange."

Kirk squeezed Spock's knee. "No, you just have to worry about me."

Spock raised his brows. "Would you like to engage in intimacy?"

"Are your studies finished?"

Spock shook his head. "They will never be finished. There is constantly new knowledge being generated in the universe."

Kirk smiled. "Sure. Come here."

Kirk put his hands behind him and turned sideways on the bed. His body was responding eagerly, without reservations, a pure hunger to be filled. Spock put his padd aside and shifted to sit on the bed. Kirk put his hands on Spock's elbows, slid them along his uniform sleeves.

"Why don't you take that off."

Spock unsealed his uniform from the neck, revealing his lean body. Kirk sat up and slid out of his shirt and tossed it aside, lifted his hips and slid out of his pants. His penis felt the air and pulsed harder toward erection. He reached for Spock, guided him to straddle his hips on the bed. Their thighs touched and rubbed. Kirk stroked Spock all over his torso, his thighs. He stroked Spock's soft genitals and his own erection at the same time.

"Are you ready for sex?" Kirk asked.

Spock peered down at him, ran a distracted hand over Kirk's chest. "I do not know yet. But I wish to please you."

"We can wait until you're ready," Kirk said this despite the way his erection was bobbing every time it bumped Spock's soft inner thigh.

"That is unnecessary. What we did last time was quite pleasurable."

"I'd like to do that again, but only if you want to." Kirk reached over his head to get the oil out of a drawer. He worried he was being too forward. That worry was the reason he had Spock on top.

He squeezed oil out onto his belly and ran his hand through it, passed his hand over his erection, over Spock's half-swelled organ. He milked Spock for a time, watching his face, but his penis remained flopping.

"I wish to please you," Spock repeated. "Please allow me to."

Kirk bit his lower lip. He was having trouble deciding what he should be worried about. He was maybe not worried enough about himself. His erection nudged eagerly against the warm, dry crux of Spock's groin, and he was offering repeatedly to wait on sex.

Kirk stroked Spock's thighs, rubbed hard one way, dragged just his fingertips the other way. He tugged at the softer, looser skin of Spock's groin. He loved those vulnerable spots on the otherwise hard Vulcan body.

"Want to take the lead?" Kirk asked.

Spock scooted forward, rotated his hips. Kirk reached a hand to the base of his penis to aim it, felt the muscles of Spock's buttocks slide past his glans, then a clenching warmth. Spock's eyes fluttered closed and he froze, hips still and legs steady. Kirk didn't move, didn't push up into Spock despite longing to. Spock slid slowly down onto him with a gasp and a convulsing of his fingers. Kirk felt his penis trying to fold. Spock leaned forward, slid off. Kirk spread his knees wide, tilted his hips up, held that way. Spock slid down again, curled his hips, to push down all the way so his thighs met Kirk's hips.

Kirk arched involuntarily, pushed upward despite not intending to. Spock held still again, fully on him. Kirk looked up at Spock's lean chest, his green tinted nipples and fine, symmetric chest hair. He let his fingers follow his eyes, brushing his nipples, grasping the flesh of his chest.

Spock lifted off him a few centimeters. His now full erection bobbed above his thighs, straight and flaring. He arched his back and slid back down with a whimper that went straight through Kirk. Kirk's balls pumped once.

"Oh, shit."

"James?"

"Here. Don't move." Kirk took Spock's erection in hand and began stroking it aggressively. His fingers slid easily. The friction heated the oil into an aromatic musk.

Spock's eyes followed Kirk's hand on himself almost dreamily. He reached behind him to trail his hands over the sensitive undersides of Kirk's thighs spread beside him.

"That's good," Kirk said. "Helps me not come."

Spock lifted to slide half off, reached beneath him to grasp the base of Kirk's penis and angled it forward, curled his hips forward and back a few centimeters, rocking on Kirk's erection. His eyes fluttered again. The ridge of his glans flared hard. He groaned and whimpered alternately.

The sounds were too much. Kirk's torso became rigid and despite being only half inside, his testicles jetted. He twisted on the bed, aching for more. Spock released him and slid fully onto him, took up a quick rhythm of sliding down and up again with a satisfying slapping sound. Kirk lost himself for a tenuous string of seconds, arched again as his groin spasmed hard.

Kirk's spine fell flat. His shoulders released, then his spine, then after a few last relieving spasms, his hips.

Kirk lay, breathing heavily, feeling his penis drawing up on itself. His body was warmed through and completely sated. He peered under heavy eyelids up at Spock, who was considering him in detail with almost stern amusement. Between Spock's thighs his green erection still strained, stood out horizontally.

Kirk patted Spock's thighs, tugged at him. "Come here."

Spock rose up onto his knees and Kirk scooted down the bed between Spock's knees. He took firm hold of Spock's hip bones and pulled the flaring glans toward him. Kirk lifted his head and licked Spock's glans, put his lips over the head, sucked once and rested his head and shoulders back. Spock was still considering him in detail.

Kirk pulled on Spock's hips again. "Come here. I think you'll enjoy this."

Spock hesitated while considering their relative positions. He slowly put a hand down above Kirk's head, then the other, rotated his hips so he was over Kirk. Kirk opened his mouth and took possession of the cock aiming down at him. He took firm hold of Spock's hips, pulled him close, tipped his head to take in more of him. Kirk released Spock's hips, and Spock pulled back and out of his mouth. Kirk stroked furred thighs bridged over him, reached a hand around to lightly stroke the silken hair at the root of his small testicles. Spock's lean body remain effortlessly fixed above him.

Kirk lifted his head to put his mouth over the head again, ran his tongue in a circle, then held still. Spock gradually lowered himself, pulled back, made a faint snorting of noise of pleasure. Spock pushed into his mouth only centimeters, and pulled back to the ridge again. He did this repeatedly, little mechanical movements. The small noises he was making began to sound frustrated. Kirk relented, put his hand around the base of his penis and squeezed, stroked the length he could reach.

Spock lowered his head to the bed, his breathing sounded loud in the space formed by their bodies. Kirk matched Spock's pace better, squeezed harder, felt the pulse of ejaculation before he heard the sharp catch of a moan.

Kirk took hold of Spock's hips again, pulled him farther into his mouth. Spock raised his head and gasped, but the bridge of his body remained absolutely stable. Kirk drew Spock slowly out of his mouth, lifted his head and took him in again. Repeated this until he was completely flaccid.

Spock lowered himself to his side on the bed, eyes half closed. Kirk wormed up the bed to be beside him. Spock's breathing was still uneven. He put his arm around Kirk and pulled Kirk's forehead to his chest. He wanted to move up, take Spock in his arms. Kirk's fixed himself in his current position, feeling Spock's breathing return to normal. He dragged a finger down Spock's chest, over his abdomen, touched his penis, which had snuggled up and hung sideways.

"Are you sated?" Spock asked. "You were not last time."

Kirk took Spock's limp penis in hand, held it. "Yes, I'm good. Thank you."

Spock's fingers tightened around Kirk's head. "I am also pleased to hear that. I am unable to help you."

"Spock." Kirk raised his head, laid it on Spock's upper arm. He sighed. "I don't want you to feel helpless."

Spock's face grew still. "I feel helpless about many things."

"Don't. Feel helpless about me." Kirk gave in and stretched up to embrace Spock. He shifted into Kirk's arms too neatly, too willingly.

"I shall attempt to not do so."

Kirk kissed him reverently on the temple. "Focus on what you do have control over. Okay?"

Spock said, "I am grateful we have this intimacy. It . . . I do not quite have the words."

Kirk pushed Spock's bangs back. Spock didn't try to explain more.

Kirk said, "It's going to be tough to be apart. But we'll be going through that together."

Spock's brow shifted. "An unexpected way to look at it."

"No. You'll see. It will help."

"Are you certain there is nothing I can do to assist you right now?"

"You can make the most of your time at the Academy."

"That is becoming difficult."

Kirk kissed him again. "I know it is. That's why I want you to do it for me. And for yourself."

Spock closed his eyes and nodded. Kirk studied his features. He was nowhere near growing out of him. If anything, he was growing more into him. Kirk rested his head back and closed his eyes as well.


	26. Finagling

Spock stood in his dormitory room during a break between classes. His body was suffering from post-sex quiescence more so than previous times. He could apply any of several basic disciplines to pull his mind firmly into the task before him: choosing between a history of starship design post-warp engine, a ten-part treatise on interior architecture for encouraging strong social ties on long voyages, and a textbook on power grid modeling. He could apply a discipline, but instead stood examining how his body felt. His muscles felt supple. His core felt sated and undemanding. But his emotions rose up, fearing for the future when he would lose access to this. This regular relief had continued to become more a part of him, despite his efforts to keep control of any changes in himself.

Kirk treated Spock's body as if it were partly his own. The idea appalled Spock if he considered it in isolation, but in the context of their intimate interactions, Spock longed to give his body over entirely, let Kirk do with it as he would, knowing he'd return it in a state like this. Relaxed and quiet. Pleased with being alive.

He opened the textbook on power grids. He had forty-three minutes. He sat down and began going from page to page, reading close until he knew what threads of information most interested him.

Spock ignored his messages until three minutes before he must depart for class. He opened the one from his father. The message had been sent directly, not through an assistant. Spock considered what that might mean and reached no logical conclusions. 

The message was short. His father was informing him that he had found a place for him at the Ira'shi Temple, in the province of Voroth and that he should have his affairs in order and be prepared to depart soon after Zienn returned.

Spock closed the message, closed down his emotions, and departed for class.

\-------- 8888 --------

Kirk was contacted by the lawyer's AI on the way to the Anne Bonny. He stood just inside the entrance under the figure of the pirate woman and confirmed his appointment for Friday late afternoon, listened to a litany of standard instructions, expectations for possibly being subjected to a truthteller, and about bringing all necessary document authentications to the meeting.

He closed his communicator, stepped in and looked around the bar. Finnegan was in his usual booth. The bartender looked up at Kirk, raised her finely plucked brows. Kirk ordered a martini, waited for it, headed over to the table where Finnegan skulked over his shot glass, the whiskey bottle stood just beyond arm's length in an awkward spot against the wooden wall.

"Well, look who the Mercury Station Rats bloody well dragged in for a dodder."

Kirk slid in across from him.

Finnegan moved his red veined eyes down Kirk's double-breasted, button-down shirt. "No uniform on ya."

"No," Kirk agreed. 

Finnegan strained his fingertips to reach the bottle, filled his shot glass so it domed up over the rim, raised it steadily to Kirk in a toast. "Ya saved the day, I hear. Kept the Pottie from toastin' the elf planet." He tossed his chin at Kirk's chest. "Coyran do that do ya, the bloody ingrateful bastard?"

Kirk worried this camaraderie might be a trap. "Coyran has more to worry about than one wannabe career officer." The martini bit Kirk's nose, rolled oily over his tongue followed by the salty pickling relief of the pimento essence. He wondered why he didn't drink more of them.

"She's the best."

When Kirk looked up in question. Finnegan rolled his eyes in derision and tossed his head at the bartender.

"Yes," Kirk agreed. "She is. Best I've ever tasted."

"So, why ya here." Finnegan swallowed hard. "Flutherin' with old Finnegan?"

"I was wondering if Argot would make a better Rear Admiral than Coyran. I thought you would know."

Finnegan snorted, downed his whole shot. "What's it to ya? Donna ya got nothin else to occupy yer tree-ringed noggin?"

Kirk put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "I need to understand who can help me the most. So I have a chance of getting back into one of those. Well, not that one, exactly. The one with the deployment insignia." He touched his own chest. "Less sparkly. Deadly alien creatures love sparkly."

Finnegan sat back to display his silver-blue HQ uniform shirt. "It is glittery, idn't it? Best part about it."

Kirk smiled. 

"You don't want to deal with His Nibs, Admiral Argot. Coyran's the soft heart."

"But Argot's getting traction convincing the rest of the admiralty that he's the better choice." This wasn't quite true, but Kirk couldn't drink three martinis before his meeting with Lt. Ducal.

Finnegan slid his empty shot glass from one hand to the other. "He doesn't want the top spot. That's the damned thick thing o' it. He's got it into his egotist's head that he has na other choice."

Kirk's heart sped up, but he projected relaxed and uncaring. "What's he want?"

Finnegan looked away, toyed with the bottle at the limit of his fingertips. "Pretty sure he'd be stoked with a proper job directin' deep space defense operations. Split out from exploration, mind you. Completely split out. But that role would have to be created, ya see, carved out of the Rear Admiral himself's bailiwick. Argot's certain that a distant threat lurks and we're going to walk right into it like plonkers with all the pretty talk about science missions."

"If I were Coyran, I might prefer that." Kirk said. "Leaves more time to worry about the core and the colonies, which got neglected, which was part of what led to our recent troubles."

"Troubles." Finnegan snorted into his empty glass. Slammed it down and filled it again but didn't drink from it.

Kirk sipped his martini. The heavy glowing glass was keeping it perfectly chilled.

"Anything I can do for you, Finnegan? I say that when I have nothing to offer, but the bloody offer itself."

"Yer the same idealistic gobdaw ya always were. Or you just pretendin' to like old Finnegan now?"

"I suppose. Hiding from you and studying all day and night is the reason I finished second in my class. I have you to thank for that." Kirk felt surprisingly generous about the past, wondered if that was a permanent change in himself.

"Well, we shouldn't be putting that to waste, now should we?"

"It's more that I don't have any idea what else I'd do with myself."

"Join the bonny club, Jimmy Boy." He sniffed, stared at Kirk's glass. "Yer a right slow drinker."

"I have a meeting."

Finnegan reached into his pocket for his sobering pills. Same as last time, the little bottle was nearly full, well stocked. "Drink up, ya lowlife lout. Keep me proper company."

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock completed the engineering control board simulation under all three available scenarios. He raised his head and looked at the screens of the students in the rows ahead of him. Two of them were poking with stressed postures at systems which were red-lined on multiple parameters. Another was shutting the simulated ship's warp core down and restarting it, repeatedly. She had pushed the timeline ahead to 10x normal speed to watch the meters fluctuate, stabilize, drift from other controls being left unattended.

Spock pulled his personal padd over, used it to call up the public information about the Ira'shi Temple. It was not a prestigious temple and it was not one that any in his family had ever attended. It was half a planet away from Spock's home province, 122 kilometers from the sea, in a deep V shaped valley. He zoomed in on it and the view adjusted to perspective, showing a view from within the valley. The structure didn't soar upward like most temples. It sat rounded and squat, perched one third of the way up the north slope. It sat on a great rock base, straddling a creek. A few reddish shrubs clung around the footings where the creek emerged and also obscured the depths of the hanging valley above the temple, which appeared to act as a bit of a dam.

Spock kept his periphery attention on the instructor, who was demonstrating the various valve control models to a cluster of four students packed around one display. Spock instructed his padd to gather what it could find about the temple and create a summary. This process finished before he could lift his hand off the device. The temple made a point of providing standard basis training, as effective as any other temple, even those that were considerably more exclusive. Terms like 'individual guidance in a group setting' and 'ensuring thorough acquisition of disciplines' made Spock's back tighten.

Spock wanted to close the summary, but slid the text to the left to pull up more detail. He heard Kirk's words to him, the echo of those he had said to Kirk. He was likely better at this than he imagined. Even if true to the greatest degree possible, it would still be a greatly displeasing experience.

The interior photos showed high ceilings, doorways like high slits opening into long cave-like halls or looking out onto the valley. Spock understood enough about architecture now to see the attempt at creating a sense of enclosure that was not entrapping. The unadorned walls spoke of a lack of assumptions, encouraged austerity of thought, inwardness. 

From where he sat in the back of a Starfleet Academy classroom, Spock imagined himself in one of the meditative alcoves, sitting as close to the wall as he was allowed to, trying to adapt his mind as instructed, being singled out for being the last to manage a particular step, rather than where he sat now, finished with his assignments and waiting for others. 

It was true that Spock had managed to greatly improve his disciplines while with the Outliers, but they had left him alone to pursue it. The details before him made it clear Ira'shi Temple applied a highly guided training regime. Spock tried very hard not to let despair take hold of him. He forced his breathing to remain normal. Even Kirk thought his aversion not wholly justified, even as he promised to support him. Perhaps part of his aversion was in his imagination, but that understanding did not keep Spock from experiencing the same cascade of debilitating reactions as always. He could address them, one at a time, but it was growing taxing to do so.

The instructor began describing another set of simulations, this time of dropping to just above warp 1 from high warp speed, apparently the most difficult transition. Spock pushed his padd aside. He longed to shove it aside, and then berated himself for this lapse in control. He pushed it with gentle high control, released it. It continued to display a list of basic disciplines every acolyte would obtain. 

Spock needed to decide. Would he allow that to be him there at the temple, managing as best he could, or would he refuse and accept the downsides as necessary? Simply deciding would assist him a great deal, most of his current distress stemmed from hanging between his options.

Spock adjusted the engineering controls on the various simulated panels, watched the displays. The student ahead of him had already overheated the warp core. The young man shook his head and restarted the simulation.

If only it were so easy, Spock thought.

\-------- 8888 --------

Kirk waited in the anteroom of Admiral Coyran's office. He was early, having escaped from Finnegan at an opportune moment. His upper back across his shoulder blades felt relaxed and he suspected the sobering pill had not completely canceled out the two martinis.

Lt. Ducal stepped out of a side office, expression distracted. He tossed his head to indicate Kirk should follow him. They went to an empty conference room. Ducal had a thick secure padd which he dropped before him, tugged a chair over and sat in it. 

He drummed his fingers once. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to call a review hearing on my commission."

Ducal pulled the padd closer and scratched his head.

Kirk said, "It has to be a closed one, I assume."

"I would assume that too."

"I want to pick three of the five panel members in that case."

Ducal puffed up as he inhaled and held it. "You aren't in a good position to make demands."

Kirk remained calm and factual. "It's only fair. I'm not likely to come out of a closed hearing with what I deserve."

Ducal tapped his padd, drummed his fingers beside it. 

Kirk said, "If Loomis had told me he was going to file a HU-731, I'd have told him not to."

Ducal turned his head, looked Kirk over slowly. "How do you always seem to know what's going on with this office and me?"

Kirk smiled. "I like you."

"That's the strangest answer."

"You seemed upset with me," Kirk said, turning on the charm which seemed to roll out of him naturally. "I took a guess."

It worked. Ducal's face relaxed. "How did you know it had been filed?"

"I talked to Loomis. You have my records there?"

"No. I have the paperwork to initiate the panel." He tapped on the padd. "Admiral informed you that you could have the date of your choosing. Your commission was removed without review, so you are due for one, no matter what. You saw Loomis?"

"I wanted him to certify that I was recovered from the state he observed previously."

Ducal kept working on the padd. "And are you?"

"Yes. Required the services of an exalted priest healer from some obscure mountain temple, but I'm doing pretty good."

Ducal tapped a few more times, slid the stylus around, signed something. "Lucky you." He sat back, hardened again. "You got a break. Do you even realize that? You should have been straight out detained."

Kirk raised his hands. "I didn't file the complaint. I wasn't harmed. Loomis said that because they have to keep things secret, they get misused, and he had apparently reached his limit. Sorry if that's making work for you."

Ducal rubbed his eyebrow. "It's a hell of a distraction. All the interviews and outsiders coming in, getting priority over running Starfleet. After the crisis is over, everyone acts like the same rules should have applied then as would apply now."

Kirk knitted his fingers together, rested them in his lap. "I know how that can be. Trying to frame your decisions in a way someone not in the firefight can understand."

Ducal nodded crookedly. "Right. Exactly."

Kirk waited a few beats. "And Argot isn't making things politically easy either."

"No. He's not."

"Have you considered that he can be bought off?"

"No. I haven't considered anything."

Kirk paused, waited for a signal from Ducal who was pretending to not care. Kirk said, "He wants free rein to run deep space defense, autonomous from exploration. Give him that, he'll let go of the fight for the top spot. He's fighting for the top spot only because he thinks he has to."

Ducal gazed at Kirk, his fatigued posture didn't twitch. "I don't believe you." He didn't sound like he meant factually.

"I make a point of knowing the things that are really useful at any given time. Keeps me alive."

"You must be recovered. You do seem full of yourself again." Ducal sat back, tossed his stylus down. "But what you say fits. Argot's harped over and over about some big enemy we are going to stir up, someone that doesn't know we're here or does but doesn't think we're worth bothering with. He's sure some exploration ship is going to make contact with the wrong group and then we'll be back to the stone age on a few of the most fertile worlds. If we're lucky. Every time we encounter the decaying remains of a highly advanced space-faring civilization, he starts in on it again." 

Ducal stood up, noisily dragged his secure padd over the desk and picked it up. "Admiral mentioned possibly talking to you. I'll go see if he can fit you in. Go wait in the reception area."

Kirk stood and pulled his stylishly heavy shirt straight. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Ducal nodded grudgingly. "Sure."

Kirk waited an hour. He watched people go in and out, some hurrying, some hopeful, some in the wrong place. The reception staff dealt professionally with each, despite some confusion and annoyance on the part of the visitors. Kirk expected that was a reflection of the attitude the staff in turn received from those above them. He felt better about Coyran as the minutes went by.

Kirk's thoughts had relaxed by the time he was called in, but he found himself coming into a nice narrow focus as he crossed the deadening carpet. 

Coyran stood reading from a sheet of electronic paper. His uniform was crisp as always on his lean form. His barber had recovered some of his hair color but had left him with hazy gray at the temples. Kirk didn't see a remote admiral. He just saw a man, a very busy and distracted one. 

Kirk imagined himself in Coyran's place, what he would care about. He stopped three meters before the desk and stood like he would on a ship's bridge, one hand bent behind his back. Coyran slowly set the document on the broad desk, taking a last long look at it before turning away from it. 

"Kirk."

"Admiral." 

Coyran stepped around the front of his desk and leaned back on the edge of it, crossed his arms. "Lt. Ducal will schedule your panel to convene as soon as possible."

Kirk nodded sharply, once. "Thank you, sir."

Coyran reached behind him, picked up a familiar small velvet box, held it out. Kirk stepped forward to accept it, stepped back. Held it at his side rather than open it. He knew roughly what was in it.

"Juno Starburst," Coyran said. "Don't give it out much, but wanted to avoid duplication with your other medals. Unfortunately, you can't wear it to your panel. Downside of having your commission revoked without a panel, you lose your chance to show those off."

Kirk felt hopefulness and held his face serious, determined to stay grimly focussed. "Yes, sir."

Someone came in and held a padd out for Coyran, who talked as he read. "So, if we put you back in uniform, what do you want to do? Assuming you can convince us to. Which isn't going to be easy. But let's just say."

"I was thinking the Lohanna Sector."

The staff member strode out. 

"That's the last sector with serious fighting. It attracts a lot of groups who have no interests there except joining a fight. It's a messy and brutal churn," Coyran said. "You sure?"

Kirk had learned about Lohanna while trying to identify and locate Opal. After much searching of mission logs and scanning profile photos, Kirk was pretty certain he had found the man, one Ursulus Joplin. He hadn't made it beyond Lieutenant Commander. Had a bio full of bad luck, including the incident that had led to his nickname involving the accidental destruction of a royal artifact of the Cygnius System. Kirk had not realized how much colony fighting was still going on until he'd pulled up the Lohanna Sector overviews using Overlander's authentication. The regular feeds certainly weren't conveying a sense of that, focussing as they tended to, closer to home.

"If you want me elsewhere. I'm certainly at your whim, sir," Kirk said. "I suggest Lohanna because I feel like we haven't finished the job." And, Kirk thought, I need to move up. Faster than I can in a quiet assignment.

"We'll see." Coyran did not sound optimistic.

Lt. Ducal came in, stood before the desk as well.

Coyran nodded at him. "We can schedule something."

Kirk put both hands behind him, stood at parade rest. He hadn't spotted that he was being tested.

Ducal said, "He wants to pick three of the panel's five, since it's closed."

"Who are you picking?" Coyran said.

"Captain Chanel, Commodore Stone. And yourself, Admiral."

Coyran's expression didn't change. "I'm too busy. Pick someone else."

Kirk nodded smartly.

"Got a lawyer?"

"I have an appointment with one."

"Who?"

Kirk didn't expect the name to mean anything. "Areel Shaw."

"How'd you get an appointment with her?"

"Connections."

Coyran pushed out his lips. "Good job. Your odds just went up considerably."

Kirk spoke quietly. "Glad to hear that, sir."

A long moment stretched out. "Really ready, Kirk?" Coyran asked.

Kirk was already standing straight enough, and he didn't want to obviously try and stand straighter. He remained half relaxed. "Yes, sir."

Coyran sounded chipper. "Okay." He started to turn away, to go behind his desk.

Kirk said, "I apologize for the HR violation investigation I seem to have triggered."

Coyran was looking over the things on his desk. "None of your concern, Kirk. And if my staff member brought it up, that was an error on his part."

Ducal flushed, frowned. "Kirk also says he has inside information about Admiral Argot."

"I don't traffic in rumors, Lieutenant. We've discussed this."

"It's more than a rumor. Argot apparently just wants autonomy over deep space defense. He would, in fact, prefer that position. He's battling you for the rear admiralty just to ensure that one issue is addressed. If he has the power to address it himself, he'll back off."

"I don't know if I want to give him that. I guess it depends on the scope." Coyran turned to Kirk. "How do you know that?"

"He has a very hard drinking staff member."

"Friend of yours?"

"The opposite. My worst enemy."

Coyran made an amused face. "I'll have to think about this. Have to get someone else to suggest it. Get some others onboard before floating it." He tilted his head to the side. "You seem to be doing well, Mr. Kirk. I didn't expect that, I admit."

"I am, sir. Took a little more time than I would have preferred. I had to accept some help." He stretched his shoulders back, wished he hadn't. Coyran's gaze took all of it in. Kirk finished with, "Thought I could do everything myself."

Coyran looked amused again. "I can understand that. Show him out, Lieutenant, and come right back."

In the reception area, Ducal said, "You'll be sent a notice about the panel. And if you want to make a third suggestion, better make it soon."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Ducal glanced across the office to the door behind the reception desk. "You tried to take the heat off. I appreciate that."

"I was afraid I'd screwed up more."

"It'll be okay. Keep watch for the notices you are going to get and respond right away or things will get delayed again."

Kirk departed, calling Spock on the way. Spock's voice was far too remote. He sounded emotionally locked down.

"What time can I bring you dinner?" Kirk asked.

"I remain concerned you will be caught. I will get a major demerit if you are."

Kirk stopped and stepped under an overhang out of the sun. "Spock. How can you be simultaneously worried about departing the Academy early and worried about following the rules?"

Spock didn't reply. Kirk said, "I'm sorry. Come to my room, in that case."

"I will not be free until after curfew. We have our first early morning review. Everyone is required to attend."

"Oh. Your first parade on the plaza. I think I'll come watch. If you don't mind. Someone will teach you how to stand at attention before it starts. What time is muster?"

"Oh six hundred, sharp."

"Keep a watch out, the senior students will do all kinds of things to make the plebes late. You're expected to be resourceful enough to get by them. It helps that they have to be there on time too."

"Understood."

"You don't sound okay. I'd like to come see you."

There was a pause. "I must make a decision that is difficult to accept."

"Don't want to leave it until Zienn returns?"

"I do not think I can. The uncertainty itself is becoming detrimental. And I continue to increasingly not wish to leave his place."

Kirk watched the sunlight being cut into shards by the streams of people walking by in both directions. "Spock, can you get by with no high priest training at all?"

The line was silent for a time. "I do not know."

"You need more data. I know it's hard, but wait on a decision. And I'll see you tomorrow morning. Early. Don't forget your dress uniform. Check it tonight to make sure no one's gotten to it."

"My room is locked."

"You think it's locked. There are several senior students with authorization to all kinds of places around the Academy. Some of them can be convinced to help out a prankster or two."


	27. Lawyer Up

Kirk shuffled sideways to make his way through the sparse rows of people surrounding the plaza. The air carried fresh brine overlaid with dewy concrete. The students were lined up in blocks of one hundred, color coded. The blocks on the far end were incomplete, especially those with the lightest color of dress uniform. 

A handful of Starfleet personnel came by, almost through the ranks, paused to look around, moved on, trying not to grin. Kirk stepped back and went sideways behind the crowd, found a higher spot where a fountain had been shut off. Others were already standing up on the solid slab of damp granite.

The students stood at attention as the Vice Admiral in charge of the Academy said a few words from a podium center front. He was right, they did look good. Kirk was pleased it took him many seconds to find Spock. He fit in well, stood like a statue. He was in the second block from the end, back row. 

Kirk thought he saw Spock's eyes flick up in his direction. Kirk raised a hand in a casual wave. He felt proud, and uneasy. He was loathe to steer Spock's life too much and felt the instinct to do so tugging at him, even now. Commanding others was what he naturally did. His difficulties had shown him just how much he had been doing that to Spock. Kirk needed to get a ship assignment, if only to give Spock space to run his own life for a while. Otherwise he risked cheating Spock out of the last of his young adulthood.

A few students ran late into place, filled in the ends of one of the incomplete blocks. Senior officers were patrolling that side, walking down the line to hand out demerits. Even from a distance, Kirk could see chests puff out, faces grow harder.

The instructor for Galactic Cultures stepped up to the podium. Kirk listened for a while to a history of Starfleet and its mission. The students in the lighter colors were beginning to wilt. Senior students walked the aisles between the blocks using often insulting language to straighten out anyone who fell out of form. The ranks rose up like arrows again, held for less time. The berating grew lower in tone so it couldn't be heard at a distance.

Kirk smiled. Just wait until they do weapon's drills, he thought.

\-------- 8888 ---------

The central offices of Jeremy, Po'dinz'k & Shaw were busy. Twelve workers, all wearing headsets, spoke on comm lines, or to AIs, or possibly both, as they moved between desks and meeting rooms, referenced monitors, delivered things to the windowed offices on the periphery.

It didn't resemble nearly the end of the day on a Friday, especially since the rest of the planet was already well into the weekend.

A similarly outfitted woman in high platform shoes led Kirk to a meeting room with windows on one wall. She went to a wall slot and brought back a coffee for Kirk without asking. Departed the room, already resuming the task she'd interrupted.

Kirk stood when the door opened again and a mid-thirties woman entered. She had compact features and dishwater blond hair styled short and full, the way someone older and from the midwest would wear it. She wore a sharp suit of steel gray with silken cuffs and edging at the lapels. In any other context, Kirk would have complimented her clothes.

"You must be Mr. Kirk," she said. "Sit down."

"Thanks for meeting with me."

"Didn't have much of a choice. To at least meet with you to see if we can take the case. The embassies are our best clients and they all talk to one another." She put her tall slim padd and coffee cup down. Tugged in her chair. "I was warned your case was complicated so we have nothing scheduled after you."

"Would you like to make this a dinner meeting?" Kirk asked.

"I don't date clients. And that would be strike one for you, by the way."

"You are my type. But I wasn't asking you for a date."

She ignored this, flicked a gold plated stylus out of her sleeve and began tapping on her padd. A pearl bracelet chained the stylus to her wrist.

Kirk said, "Is it three strikes total?"

"Yes. Per usual."

"Just checking."

"I need some certifications from you to get your personnel records." She turned the padd around, pushed it to him.

Kirk pulled it over, began scanning the screens about his privacy.

"You've handled a review panel before?" Kirk asked.

"Twice. What I've handled is a quite a number of military disciplinary hearings. You want an exact count, I can get you one. Those are harder to win."

"No, that's sufficient." Kirk pressed his thumb on a few forms. Held the padd up to scan his retina and iris, handed the padd back.

She took the padd back, read from it. "Admiral Coyran summarily removed your commission himself. And sent you to interrogation."

"Correct."

"He thought you were an immediate threat. Intelligence decided you weren't."

"Also correct."

"I have a Q10 clearance. But portions of your record are still locked." She lowered the padd and stared at him as if this might be his fault.

Kirk had his hands out on the desk, clasped loosely. He suddenly became aware of them there. "It isn't relevant."

"It's up to me to decide what's relevant, Mr. Kirk. That's what you're paying me for."

"Ever met a Commander Graham, by chance? You remind me of her."

"No. And that's another half strike."

Kirk forced himself to remain easy going. "I like Commander Graham. We fake dated for a while."

She ignored this. "I expect full disclosure. I don't work for anyone who can't provide that." 

Her looks were positively accentuated by her anger. Kirk did not point this out.

"I mean anyone," she said.

Kirk tilted his head to the side. "I was on Tarsus IV as a teen when the troubles struck. That's a big part of what's behind the lock."

She dipped her head back to the padd. "So, not relevant. That we know of at this time." She read for another minute. "Starfleet hasn't flagged any particular records as relevant to your current status. Which is unusual. What have you been doing in violation of regulation?"

"You want a full list?"

She angled her head oddly as if threatening him with another strike.

"I might have accidentally assisted the enemy aboard the USS Sanchez. My best friend was working for the Rebels, unbeknownst to me. I did a few odd favors for him. Covering for him and such. I didn't realize at the time what I was doing."

Kirk got caught up in those memories.

"Go on," she said.

"I falsified a report on a mission drop. Lied about the presence of a civilian."

"Where was this?"

"Wolfram Thesus V."

She lifted her chin. "You aren't the one the feeds call the Hero of Wolfram, are you? There was only one survivor. Or, two, apparently. Turns out."

"Yes. That's me. Not sure the civilian doesn't deserve most of the credit."

"Anything else? Major things that might justify pulling your commission. You'd be surprised how many people don't realize what it is they are really in trouble for."

"I lied about writing a computer virus that has infiltrated nearly every system in the Federation."

She paused. "You did or didn't write it?"

"I didn't."

She stared at him. "I maybe should get a truthteller in here."

"I have no reason to lie to you."

"Tell me a lie."

She had blue-gray eyes that shifted in color with her mood. Kirk said, "I really don't like your eyes."

She frowned, shook her head. "That's another half strike."

Kirk sat back, slowly, as if in control. "I'm just trying to be myself."

"Spare me from it. Please. And that lie was obvious. Let's move on." 

She appeared flushed, which would normally make Kirk smile. He held himself bland and passive instead.

"Anything else?"

"While I was in command of the Ranger I struck one of my officers."

"Did you report that?"

"Yes."

"Were the circumstances violent already?"

"Yes."

"Next."

"I took one of the captured enemy to my quarters and bedded him. Kept him there for weeks 'til we could offload him." Kirk turned his chair back and forth a few degrees. "I think we call that consorting with the enemy." He waited while she studied him. "I know you can't give me a strike for that because it's not about you. And I'm following instructions."

She stared, mind working without indication in what direction. 

"You don't need a lawyer. You need a miracle worker." She put her padd down, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "In your opinion, why did Admiral Coyran remove your commission?"

"He didn't trust me."

"Was he justified in that?"

Kirk nodded. "Yes."

"What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"Really, Admiral Coyran pulled your commission for something you didn't do? Did you fail to do something?"

"How well do you know Ambassador Sarek?" Kirk asked.

She put her hands down, upset, he guessed by having the thread of questioning disrupted. "Well enough. I've done work for the Vulcan embassy on and off for eight years. My whole career here since I came on as a junior partner."

"Have you met his son?"

"I've glimpsed him on occasion. Going to answer my question?"

"I'm trying to figure out how much personal information about Sarek's family I should reveal."

"I don't work without full disclosure."

"Full disclosure of my personal life is one thing." Kirk felt heat rising up in him. 

"Ambassador Sarek referred you to me, I'll remind you."

Kirk nodded. "There is also the issue of your clearance level. But Q10 is pretty high for an unattached civilian." 

Kirk put his hands out before himself again, hooked his thumbs over each other. "Admiral Coyran pulled my commission because I was mind raped. By a Vulcan."

She frowned and breathed out through her nose. "That explains why the embassy is involved."

Kirk said nothing. Waited. Areel Shaw waited as well. Eventually turned back to her padd.

Her voice lost its forcefulness. "All right. You had a CANA retaken, I see here." She looked it over. "You had one taken before admission to Starfleet Academy. I'm guessing because of your experiences as a teen."

Kirk nodded.

She flicked the gold-linked tether on her pen and tapped the pen on the tabletop. "Results look comparable to me. We'll have to get an expert to say they are. And you have an additional note from your interrogator." She paused, eyes reading something over. "You went back?"

"Yes. Of course."

She went wide-eyed. "If that works then. Okay."

"He agreed to give a statement in person. But he also filed a human rights violation over my case, so his statement is doesn't carry much weight."

"Doing my job for me is also a strike," she said this with a teasing lightness. 

Kirk nodded sideways, remained stiff.

"I'm kidding. In this case."

Kirk sat quietly. He judged that she looked regretful. "I got that. I don't want pity. If you don't mind."

She appeared more regretful. The sternness was clearly forced this time. "You aren't getting it."

Kirk turned his chair minutely side to side. "Are you taking my case?"

"I don't know yet. To be honest. I'm not sure I can help you."

"Admiral Coyran recognized your name. Said my chances went up if you were my lawyer."

"Flattering."

"He's letting me choose three of the five panel members. I insisted it was only fair because they insisted the panel be closed."

Her pale brown brows went up. "So, Admiral Coyran wants you back. Is that what you are implying?"

"That is my impression."

She pulled out a pair of glasses, used them to read from the padd. "Don't mind me. It's late on a Friday and my eyes are shot."

Kirk would have said she looked good in them. He said nothing.

She pulled the glasses down her nose and looked at him over them. "There are a lot of holes in your record. Why did Coyran personally pull your commission? Surely mind rape doesn't rise to the attention of an Admiral. By itself."

"There are more details I can give you, but I need to know you want the case."

She made a face. "I want the case. Make no mistake. I like interesting and complicated lost causes. It's not always fair to the client, given the expense. Also given how hard hope and disappointment are on people."

"This one gets a lot more interesting. And complicated."

She pulled her glasses off. "We could clear you on the mind rape only to have them turn around and discharge you on the consorting with the enemy."

"Or sleeping with an underaged Federation citizen."

She grew tough again. "When was this?"

"Still am." Kirk put his hands in his lap, resisted rotating his chair back and forth. "Someone in intel has already blackmailed me with it."

She had an excellent poker face.

"Finish reading my file," Kirk said. "Let me know what you decide."

She adjusted her glasses and read. "You are very highly decorated. Sort of absurdly, given your age." She flicked with her pen. "Admiral Coyran gave you a medal just yesterday. Juno Starburst, for Exemplary Service in the Interest of Galactic Peace. What'd you do?"

"Saved Vulcan."

"The planet Vulcan. Recently?"

"Quite."

"That kerfluff with the Potemkin, I'm guessing. And some kind of coverup followed. I heard various people discussing that. Those with a conspiracy minded bent, especially." She scrolled. "That also appears to be locked on your file."

"You take the case. I can tell you all about it." He wanted to smile but held back.

"You think that kind of bribe will work on me?" She also was trying not to smile, kept reading. "Karagite Order of Heroism," she muttered. "Look at these missions. Some of them read like a form of inconvenient suicide."

"My interrogator didn't seem to think it rose to that level of concern." Kirk put a small smile on the end of this.

She shook her head. "You have to understand that I don't like taking your money. Especially money you don't have. And giving you false hope . . . It's not my way of doing things."

Kirk waited until she stopped scrolling and put the padd down. "The underage citizen I'm sleeping with is the Ambassador's son, Spock."

She froze in place. "Ambassador Sarek knows?"

"I should think. He arranged for Spock and I to be bonded." He paused. "I can keep dropping these. Did you know Sarek had another son?"

She bit her lips. "Had?"

"I put a knife in him."

She breathed loudly out through her nose. "Ambassador Sarek knows that too?"

"We melded twice to help me get over the mind rape. Not much he doesn't know."

She put her glasses down, picked them up and folded them neatly. "You've melded with him? I always wondered what that would be like." She flushed deeply, all the way down her neck.

Kirk looked away so he could avoid grinning, scratched his own neck.

"The ambassador assumed I would take your case," she said. "But I always reserve that decision for myself."

"Understandable."

"But I don't have any choice in this case. You are like family to the ambassador. It sounds like. Of a sort."

Kirk raised his head, felt something like uneasiness in his gut. "I guess."

She stood up. "Your strikes are canceled out, Mr. Kirk. Let's get some dinner. I'll take you off the clock for filling in the background, because I won't mind, it sounds like, if it takes a all evening."


	28. Personal Crisis

The two interns that had been using the office in the afternoon had departed hours before. Spock sat in the dark, scanned the log files of queries to the student advice system, fed the entries into a semantic net constructor, which popped into 3D life on the display as it completed. The net looked useful. Perhaps suitable for building a narrative browser for new students who lacked the domain knowledge to ask a useful question.

Spock searched the server's code index for anything similar to what he might need. He messaged someone in the data center for assistance, browsed the semantic net while he waited for an answer. Before him on the screen was the sum total of the casual knowledge needed by every Academy student. It made his stomach hurt to look at it. He had been here since that morning, forcing himself to face the empty necessity of this data. A Vulcan would be stronger than this.

Spock let his hands fall into his lap, tried to imagine never seeing his parents again. This would be the easiest, cleanest solution to his immediate difficulties. Logical, perhaps even. But he could not bring himself to accept it. He imagined being at a the Ira'shi Temple for three years, meditating on stone blocks for hours, having lessons with elderly priests and priestesses, full Vulcans who would have no experience with anything off-world. He could not bear the imagining. Spock swallowed hard. He centered himself, but did not feel more emotionally stable.

Spock's queries to the data center were usually dealt with within the hour. Spock considered reading up on how Starfleet engineering orders were processed, but could not find sufficient purpose within himself.

The lights came up and Grange leaned in. "You are still here."

"Yes, sir."

Grange came down to Spock's end of the office, turned a chair around and straddled it. He leaned his chin on his forearm on the chair back.

"This is probably going to be too personal, but I get the sense you are not having a good day."

"I did not intend to reveal that."

"No. I assumed you didn't. And it's none of my business. Were it anyone else, I'd ignore it. You usually are exactly the same every time I see you. Makes the change concerning." 

The message from the data center remained orange. Grange tapped his left foot. 

"Are you upset with us humans for some reason?"

Spock lowered his brows. "No, sir."

Grange watched Spock browse through the semantic net. "Can't imagine what else would set you off this much." 

"You are fishing," Spock said.

"What an odd phrase to use. And it's sir every time you speak to me."

Spock continued to soar through the data. Little summary balloons popped up and disappeared. "It does not matter."

Grange leaned away, holding to the chair back. Spock turned his head to better confirm that the lieutenant's heart rate had increased. Spock shook his head. Alarming Grange made Spock's negative emotions surge higher.

Spock felt he must now explain. "My father has commanded me to leave the Academy. And I do not wish to."

Grange leaned forward again. "He's making you go? Why?"

"He insists that I attend a temple on Vulcan and complete the training of a high priest."

"Did you just shiver?"

Spock dropped his hands off the computer input slates, rested them on his thighs. Forced his body to calm.

"Are you cold?" Grange asked. "Uh, isn't shivering . . . isn't shivering a sign of something seriously wrong with you?" Grange stood up. "I read the first aid section on Vulcans before I dragged you down here the first day, just in case. It is something, I remember. It's supposed to be a sign of extreme distress."

"I am quite all right. Sir."

Grange picked up his satchel, shifted chairs around. "I'll take you down to medical. Come on."

Spock raised a brow. "If you are intending to add considerably to my distress, that would be the optimum method of doing so."

Grange smiled, but it looked pained. He looked Spock over in detail. "Close down that task. Come on, Cadet. That's an order. " 

Spock shut down his computer processes, powered off the terminal, but remained sitting.

"I'll take you to your room." Grange sounded grudging. "Turn the heat up in there to Vulcan normal. Will that help? Or maybe you're not actually cold." He straightened his shoulders. "Until I see some official paperwork, you're still a cadet and still subject to orders. Come on."

Spock stood, followed Grange out and along the long connectors to the distant First Year dormitory. Grange consulted his wrist padd, made his way to Spock's room. 

As they approached the dorm room door, Spock shivered again. 

Grange gave him a sharp look. "You sure I shouldn't take you to medical?"

"I am loath to be looked after in this manner, sir. It is making it worse."

"Inside then." Grange gestured sharply. "If I'm not taking you to medical, I have to call someone. But your emergency contact is your parents, right? Source of your problems?"

Spock looked away, shame was piling into the mix of his difficulties, amplifying everything else. He stepped into his room and closed his eyes, grasping for additional control by cutting out one of his senses. 

"Sit down," Grange said, waited while Spock obeyed. "What about that human I saw you with before classes started? I think I saw him a time or two after that, going in and out. He a friend of yours? The brown haired one who's a bit full of himself? Would he know how to handle this?"

"James. Yes."

"You sure? This is serious business. I have to see that you're taken care of, to the degree that an official review of my actions moment to moment doesn't damn me. Understand?"

Spock looked up. Spoke slowly. "James is considerably more than a friend."

Grange tilted his head, looked amused. "Is he?" He lifted his communicator. His voice had softened. "What's his transmitter ID?"

Spock told him.

Grange paced as he waited for a connection. "James? This is Lieutenant Grange at Starfleet Academy."

Kirk's voice came through curt and demanding. "Yes?"

"Your friend Spock needs someone to come look after him."

"He all right?"

"At the moment."

"Where are you?"

"Spock's room."

"I'll be less than ten. You'll stay with him?"

"I'm required to."

Grange put the communicator back on his belt. He picked up the folded blanket off the bed, snapped it out, and put it around Spock. "I saw you shiver again."

Spock gathered the edges of the blanket together. "I am ashamed of my weakness, which requires even more control to suppress. What would assist me most is to be left alone to meditate."

"Can't do that." Grange pulled out a platform across from the bunk, sat down with his legs crossed. "Why a high priest? If I may ask. You don't have to answer that. I'm just curious. First I've heard this one and I've heard a lot."

"It is a family tradition."

"Don't you have your father's permission to be here at the Academy right now?"

Spock looked up. The lieutenant's eyes were dark gray, slightly green. Spock has ceased noticing how ruddy his skin was, something most humans would get altered. "You have not looked at my file."

"I don't look at anyone's file. I don't really have time, plus it throws me off when I do. No one's file tells me what they are really like." He bounced his crossed leg. "Does yours?"

Spock shook his head. "I do not know."

Grange frowned, looked away from Spock. His eye caught the medals display case beside the door. He stared at it, narrowed his eyes, looked away. But after half a minute, he reached over and touched the case. "I don't recognize these two. May I?"

Spock nodded. Grange pulled the cover off the case and caught the medals as they fell from the velvet backing mounted on the wall. He flipped the medals over, peered at them closely. "That's why. They're civilian." He held up the Reaper Token between thumb and forefinger. "Who'd you save?"

"Someone I was not qualified to save."

"Who said saving lives required any prerequisites?"

"I was in the correct place during a difficult time."

"Yeah. That happens." Grange tossed the token a few inches and caught it, moved to put everything back in the case. 

"Please put them in the drawer behind you."

"You sure?"

Spock's voice came out quietly. "I wish to start over."

Grange's eyes grew shiny. He rubbed his chin with the token still in his hand. "I'll put the medals away, but you should leave the Reaper Token out." He arranged this, tapped the case cover into place with just the skull face showing, onyx on velvet.

Spock said, "I wish to be nothing more than a first year Vulcan student with a rebellious human boyfriend."

Grange snorted. "That's how I think of you. I can keep thinking of you that way if you like. That's easy enough."

Spock nodded. "I would appreciate that, sir."

"I'll regret you leaving. Which believe me, I never say. I don't suppose the Academy is the right place for a high priest, but any chance you can come back?"

"I will be allowed to return to Starfleet Academy when I have completed this other training."

"Oh. How long will that take, then?"

"Three or four earth years, perhaps more."

"That's not that bad."

Spock breathed in and out slowly. The blanket felt heavier than it should. "I do not wish to depart at all."

"You that spoiled?"

Spock considered this without letting any emotion in. "You think me childish?"

"I don't know. I don't know your race that well." His voice had returned to judgmental.

"I have never in my life felt I was where I belong, until the last weeks here."

Grange leaned back, put a hand behind his head. "I haven't been rough enough on you. Clearly."

Spock considered pointing out that his first commander had regularly killed humans to make a political statement. He said nothing.

Grange seemed to sense that Spock was holding back a winning point. He dropped his arm, clasped his hands loosely in his lap. He sat as if masking that he was growing tense, masking the energy flowing into his limbs at a sense of uncertainty, danger. Spock's emotions wavered again. He shivered despite the blanket.

"I apologize, sir. I do not mean to make you uneasy."

"You're not."

Spock could feel the ongoing rise in physical alertness as an electrical charge coursing in Grange's muscles.

Spock said, "I can sense your shift to survival mode. I realize as my superior that you will not acknowledge it. Perhaps I do not belong."

Grange sat forward over his clasped hands. "You looked at me very oddly just now."

"I was remembering. I again apologize. I am three point two one seven times your strength, but I am incapable of harming you. For the record, sir."

Grange sat thoughtfully, continued leaning forward with earnestness as if to prove a point. "Why's that, may I ask?"

"Why what, sir?"

"Why are you incapable of harming me?"

Spock sensed Grange's nervousness flaring as he asked this. "Because I would experience what you did. I would have to harm myself as well."

"You realize this is a military organization. You are going to be expected to fight, if necessary."

"I am capable of practicing organized martial arts where there is an expectation of pain and discipline on all sides. And I am capable of defending another from harm. I have no difficulty with balancing my assigned priorities against one another and making a choice of which is more important. And where my duty lies."

Grange nodded slowly. "That's interesting. And it might actually be optimal. Unless you plan on going into security. But I expect not."

"No, sir." Spock was pleased that he didn't shiver at that notion.

The door chimed and opened. Kirk looked between Spock and Grange, stepped inside. He bent to Spock's eye level, put his hands on his blanketed arms. "Spock," he said, voice full of emotion. 

Grange stood up, came beside Kirk. "Can you take care of him? He claimed visiting medical wouldn't help. He was shivering which I know is a serious sign of distress."

Kirk straightened. "Is it?" He sighed. "I actually didn't know that. But, yes, I'll take care of him."

Grange put his hands on his hips. "If you didn't know that, how are you going to take proper care of him?"

"I'll manage, Lieutenant." Kirk straightened fully, seemed on the verge of continuing in a commanding manner. But he relented. "I'll take him to the apartment where his Vulcan Healer friend is staying. He'll have a look at Spock when he gets in tonight."

Spock said, "Zienn is returning?"

"Yes. His guide messaged the embassy." Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "We'll talk to Zienn. Okay? See what we can do."

Spock shook his head. "There is no reason to arrange a change in plans. My father is correct. I must go."

"You don't want to leave here. Do you?" Kirk said.

Spock continued to slowly shake his head. "I cannot communicate how misunderstood I am by Vulcans in such a traditional position. I cannot submit to such a meld again. Not even once, let alone years of it. But the alternatives are impossible to accept as well."

Kirk sat down beside Spock, took up his forearm in both hands, slid his hands in under his sleeve. "Logical quandaries are very hard on you, aren't they my Vulcan friend?"

Spock absorbed the feel of Kirk's touch on his skin, settled into Kirk's acceptance of him. "I do not have a solution."

"You lack data. And you can change the parameters of the situation. This isn't a chess board with fixed squares and pieces." Kirk squeezed his arm harder. "We'll talk to Zienn. We'll find something acceptable. I promise."

Spock took in Kirk's eyes more keenly. "You are different." 

Kirk smiled. "I am a little different. But we'll discuss that later too." 

Spock glanced over his shoulder at Lt. Grange who was still standing by, looking ready to take charge again.

Kirk stood up. "Lieutenant. What do you need from me?"

Grange seemed to come back to the present. "You mean, to let you take Spock away instead of me taking him to medical?"

"Exactly."

"If anything happens to Spock, it's on me."

"I can sign off that I took him off your hands. Officially."

"It's not just the officially that matters. I care that he's going to be okay."

Kirk smiled affectionately. "I can have his mother come fetch him."

"That would definitely work for me," Grange said.

"That is highly unnecessary," Spock said. "You will only add to her concerns about me."

"Spock." Kirk exhaled in a huff. He sat down on the low table across from the bunk and took Spock by the knees, dug in his fingers. "Spock. Let me explain something to you. Your mother is indeed beside herself. You know why? Because there is nothing you or your father allow her to do to help. If you actually let her do something useful, like come and sign you out of the Academy for the night, she'd be better off. Not worse."

Spock blinked. "You are quite changed. What happened?"

Kirk sat back slightly. "Your father."

"Indeed. Does that mean you are on his side?"

"No. Yours and only yours. Okay?"

Spock let Kirk's words be an anchor. His words and his brutal hold on his knees.

Grange leaned against the wall at the end of the bunk, arms crossed, "So, what's the decision here."

Kirk dropped his hands and looked up at Grange. "Spock is my registered partner. I'm going to take him off campus for the evening. Arrange to get him care."

Spock said, "I am quite certain that the computer system is not going to let you sign me out in any kind of official capacity." Spock pointedly added, "James."

Kirk moved his mouth around. His face took on a look of sly amusement that Spock had deeply missed seeing. 

"You're probably right," Kirk said.

"Your rebellious human boyfriend has a bit of a record?" Grange said.

Kirk's smile shifted, but didn't vacate. "I'm the rebellious one. Me? Okay." 

Spock enjoyed the vision before him, his Kirk. Charismatic. Commanding but generous. It almost made Spock dizzy to witness him.

"You have to let me call your mother then." Kirk leaned forward again, leaning on Spock's knees. "Let me do it FOR your mother."

"I do not agree with your assessment of the situation."

"Trust me, Spock."

"I cannot do otherwise." 

Kirk took out his communicator and opened a channel to the embassy, got a gruff after-hours greeting in Vulcan. "This is James, Sgroud. I need a favor from you. How amenable to that are you?"

Lt Grange raised a brow, crossed his arms.

Sgroud said, "I would have to hear the details to give you a reply."

"Is Lady Amanda there?"

"I cannot answer that."

Kirk chuckled. "Okay. Can you ask HER to do me a favor. Is that possible?"

"I will have to hear it."

"You're a tough cookie, Sgroud. We need Lady Amanda to come to the Starfleet Academy Dormitories. I can give you the coordinates. The favor part is not that. It's that I'm hoping you leave it up to Lady Amanda to tell Sarek about it. Understood?"

"That would be a severance of protocol."

"I don't think it would. You are outranked by the lady, right? It's just a chain of command."

There was a pause. 

Kirk said, "How about you ask Lady Amanda how you should proceed and go from there?"

"I will consider it. I will, in the meantime, pass on your message."

"I appreciate that." Kirk gave him the coordinates and signed off, put a foot up beside Spock's knee. Grange continued to lean on the wall, eyes moving between them. 

Kirk met Grange's gaze with a questioning, innocent one. "Something you want to say, Lieutenant?"

Grange shifted his shoulder on the wall. "I think I agree with Spock's father that you're a bad influence."

"You're taking my rebellious aspect too seriously."

"You're ex fleet. I can tell. Spock said you weren't."

Kirk's eyes flicked to Spock. "Technically not ex." Kirk sat up straighter against the cabinets behind him. "Just temporarily out of uniform." He rocked his head. "Temporarily out of commission, actually."

"Why?"

"You don't watch the feeds much."

"I do two and a half jobs here. I don't have time."

Spock said, "He offered to continue to assume I was just an ordinary Vulcan new to the Academy and you my rebellious human boyfriend."

Kirk's gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Spock."

"You have done nothing worthy of apology."

"I don't mean that kind of sorry." Kirk rubbed his right eye. "I mean the kind where I dearly wish you could be that."

"It is a childish wish."

"No, it's not. It's a hopeful one. Hopeful that there's another life for you if you change your circumstances around a little."

"Is that what is required?"

Kirk smiled softly. "That and a little time. Yes."

"I wish to trust your expertise in this." Spock drank Kirk in again. He wanted to be commanded, told what to do so his stress would be over. He realized that Kirk constantly adjusted his power over him, let him have space as needed, even to make mistakes, but he was always there.

Grange spoke into the silence. "So, rebellious human boyfriend, how'd you lose your commission?"

Kirk offered Grange a proud lift of his chin. "Rear Admiral Coyran himself took it away from me."

"He's not Rear Admiral. I may not watch the feeds, but I do know what the org chart looks like."

"You may think he's not. Word of advice to your org chart. He is indeed in charge."

"Hm." Grange gestured at Spock. "And your young Vulcan boyfriend here, where'd you meet? Regulan yoga class? Freighter outpost bar?"

Kirk clasped his hands, touched them to his lips. He spoke reverently, "He saved my life."

"You saved mine as well," Spock said. "Under rather high risk circumstances."

"I was happy to. Even though I still think you were an idiot."

Spock adopted a haughty tone that he calculated would amuse Kirk. "At least I, in the end, managed to convince Starfleet to officially accept my presence."

Kirk pointed at him without unclasping his hands. "True." He rested his hands in his lap again, smiled as if plotting. "I'll manage something. I met with that lawyer your father arranged." 

"And?"

"She's a real tough cookie. It's almost like your father's blanket disapproval of me is weakening."

Grange said, "Or maybe he can't bear the scandal."

"That is likely part of it, too." Kirk sat back, raised his chin again. "So, Spock, how are the officers here at the academy? Any evaluations or critiques to offer?"

"They are acceptable."

Kirk waited. Said, "I give you that opening and that's what you use it for?"

Spock shrugged. "They are perhaps too soft, despite vocally being concerned about being too soft."

"Right." Kirk looked over at Grange, gauged him. "Well, if he keeps complaining about having to go easy on you, you can tell him all about Zuram. I've never been so happy for a forcefield in my life as I was talking with him."

Spock found his mood lifting. Kirk gave him an affectionate smile.

Spock said, "This is fascinating. You are pulling the past into the present, but making it a shared experience with less power to harm."

Kirk said, "I learned that from your father, believe it or not."

"You are correct. I do not believe it."

"He's more like you than I thought. He's also more like your brother, which wasn't the best realization to have."

Spock fell still. He too had observed this. Kirk's smile faded. His gaze softened as if he knew what Spock was thinking.

"Sorry," Kirk said.

"Do not be."

The door chimed. Kirk pushed himself up to answer it. Amanda stood in the doorway, dark hooded cloak over her cream colored head wrap.

"Lady Amanda," Kirk stepped aside. Behind her, Sgroud gestured that he'd remain in the corridor. Kirk nodded his thanks and triggered the door to close.

"You are unwell, Spock?" Amanda bent down and looked Spock in the eyes.

Spock drew in a slow breath. "I am having difficulty with a logical quandary." Looking at her reminded him that he could not cut himself off from her, no matter the cost. But the cost of not doing so was also too high.

"You are still in that quandary, I think." She spoke gently, touched his arm. "Want me to take you home?"

"We were intending to return to Commander Overlander's apartment," Spock said. "To await High Priest Zienn."

"That's fine. If that will help you the most." She stood and approached Grange, who had pushed off from the wall and pulled out his padd. 

She signed Spock out, graciously thanked the lieutenant, who appeared to blush in response.

"Cadet, I hope to see you back," Grange said as they parted in the corridor.

Spock bowed. "Thank you, sir."

Grange looked at Kirk. "Not sure about you."

"No one ever really is, Lieutenant. That's the way I prefer it."


	29. Precious

"Commander Overlander," Amanda repeated the introduction as she held out her hand.

Overlander was still in her work ruffled uniform. She gingery took the offered hand.

Kirk guided Spock past them, still wrapped in the blanket with the Academy insignia woven into it. He urged Spock to sit on the couch facing the glass doors. The warm yellow and orange lights of the tower windows beyond were just beginning to overpower the dimming light of the steely sky.

Amanda bent beside Kirk to get to Spock's eye level and Kirk stepped back. She spoke too softly to hear. Kirk brought a chair from the table so she could sit close, facing Spock. He remained standing nearby watching for anything else he could do.

Spock shook his head, looked away from his mother. She reached out a tentative hand, just touched his arm where it emerged from the blanket.

"Spock. Even if you cannot trust that things will work out, you need not suffer as you are. Let me walk you through a level three, all right? That used to always help you."

Spock nodded.

She switched to Vulcan and described walking a path near the estate, described the distinctive outcroppings of rock, the clusters of plants, the dry riverbed, how one must follow it to find the oasis. She repeated key phrases methodically before moving onto the next part of the path.

Spock bowed his head, lost some of the tension in his face.

Kirk looked up at Overlander, found her rapt attention fixed on Spock and his mother. She appeared lost and yearning and so far drawn into both as to be unconscious of how much she was revealing.

Kirk listened to what he could understand of the litany of the journey and glanced frequently up at Overlander, curious to see the spell be broken on all sides. He was fairly certain she didn't understand enough Vulcan to be caught up in the meditative journey.

With a long poetic description of the small pool reflecting the rocks, Amanda trailed off and sat back. Spock appeared able to mask his struggles, but only marginally less stressed deep within.

The four of them stood in silence.

Spock said, "I do not wish for this attention."

"I will leave you to your thoughts, Spock." Amanda gathered her robes and stood up facing Kirk. "He is not in as much danger as a pure Vulcan would be in this state. But if you have need of me again, please call."

"We will," Kirk said. He touched Spock's blanketed shoulder. "You all right if your mother goes?"

"I require meditation."

"We'll give you quiet to do that." He nodded at Amanda.

Amanda turned toward Overlander, who required a moment to remember she should see her her guest out. Overlander returned with arms crossed as if she too were cold.

"Your mother's very nice," she said to no one in particular.

Spock nodded, slipped out of the blanket and knelt on the floor. To Kirk he looked to be moving by rote, moving through pain.

\-------- 8888 --------

Kirk and Overlander were on the balcony in the still evening air discussing fleet gossip in whispers when the door chimed.

Zienn and his guide stepped inside when invited to, his guide sunny and upright, Zienn worn and bowed. Zienn spoke to his guide in Vulcan. Thanked him. The guide found each of their eyes in quick greetings and backed out with another smiling bow.

Kirk started to speak, but Overlander cut him off. "Don't you dare. He has to recover first."

Zienn turned to her, looked to Spock kneeling on the floor deep in meditation. Then to Kirk.

"He can wait," Overlander said.

Zienn tilted his head at her, said in Vulcan, "Either I know none of you or I am seeing you clearly for the first time."

"You're right," Kirk said. "He needs a rest."

Zienn took up a meditative posture near the outside door, apparently no longer caring about the additional draft in that spot. Kirk sank back on the couch near Spock. His own worry had grown acute and he could only relieve it by sitting close.

Zienn meditated half an hour, opened his eyes again and considered Spock at length. "It is all emotion," he said in Vulcan.

"It is," Kirk agreed, and felt shamed for Spock's sake.

"You misunderstand. Even pure logic depends on emotion, if only for the metric provided by the lack of it. One must transcend something."

He stood up. Overlander came over from the table, stood nearby as if ready to step in. Zienn turned to her. "It is only my own weakness."

It might have been the melds, but Kirk was picking up a lot of Vulcan, even if he couldn't speak it. He translated that for Overlander.

Overlander put her hands on her hips. "That matters why? Why don't you rest longer?"

Zienn looked at her a long moment, then at Kirk. "Everyone is different." He continued looking at Kirk. "I mistakenly took responsibility for you when I should not have. It was a decision I did not understand because I have been sheltered too long."

"Don't worry about me," Kirk said in his stilted Vulcan.

"You are certain?"

"Very."

Zienn considered Overlander again a moment, then moved deliberately to sit crosslegged on the floor before Spock, his posture one of long patience.

Spock opened his eyes and sat back on his feet, lowered his hands. "You did not speak to me of this before you departed."

"Because I was a coward." Zienn thought for a time. "I could use any number of good excuses. That it is your father's responsibility, not mine. But they are not relevant. I did not want to face your pain."

"I see."

Zienn was tired of meditating and sensed that Spock had fallen coincidentally into the same mode. He choose to speak in ritual Vulcan to give them some privacy.

"Tell me your concerns, Spock."

Spock said, "They are irrelevant. They are emotional, not logical."

"You are who you are. Of course emotion is relevant."

Spock lifted his head. "You said before that I was Vulcan. More Vulcan."

"Vulcan is more than Surak," Zienn said. He was seeing himself from a new distance that made his pride incidental. He worried how much pride had been interfering with his thinking before now.

They sat in silence for many minutes. Zienn broke it. "There are three paths everyone is on: there is the path they think they are on, there is the one they really are on, and there is the one they wish they were on. I would like to hear the one you think you are on. I would like to keep our thoughts separate. You will have to enlighten me in words."

Spock dropped his gaze again. "I have read a description of the practices of training at the Ira'shi Temple where I am to be sent. While it is a less traditionally rigid temple that does not train lifelong practitioners, it still involves a great deal of melding, to demonstrate and guide and correct. Perhaps more so than an older temple because it attracts a less skilled student." Spock's voice wavered and he stopped.

"You are no longer a young child. I do not expect you will be harmed by this." Zienn studied Spock. Distress was making Spock's skin electric. "We are already at a deep division of understanding," Zienn said. "Do you really think melding with other priests and priestesses will be so different than melding with me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It has always been so. You are patient. You are compassionate. I have never experienced that with another. I see no logical reason to expect it having no precedent for it." Spock grew more agitated as he spoke.

Zienn shut his eyes, then shut out the sense of Spock's physiological responses. He put everything into his hearing. "You have other concerns with attending the temple."

"I know I must be parted from James for a time, but this will be a much longer time than I am prepared to accept."

"If you were bonded to him, you would not be parted at all. Shall I suggest that to your father? He may accept such advice from me, even over the strong resistance your family will have."

"My father has already offered that."

Zienn opened his eyes. He wasn't very good at this practice of complete shutting out of his senses.

Spock said, "I prefer to be alone with my thoughts. James understands this. Another Vulcan cannot."

"Your wounds are healed." Zienn paused to find patience. "But you likely still have memories of those childhood melds."

"It is more than that. If I do not have my own will in this than nothing has changed for me."

Kirk shifted forward on the couch in Spock's direction, hands clasped before him. His shoulder muscles flexed, likely unconsciously. Zienn touched the human's mind, found he understood very little of their speech, and that his tolerance for Spock's pain was exceedingly low. His movements were on the verge of instinct, and without direction.

Zienn waited to see if Kirk would do more.

Zienn said, "I cannot tell you that you do not need this training, because I know with certainty that you do. I do not, however, believe that it must be immediately. Perhaps after more time you will come to accept that there is no reason for your distress."

Spock nodded faintly, repeatedly. "Father is overreacting and I cannot convince him of this, but he is also considering my Starfleet training, that it is disadvantageous to interrupt it. Leaving for three years, or more, in the middle of it, puts me in a poor position."

"It will likely be two Vulcan years. You are a fast learner."

"I am quick to learn more of these senses that I should not have. I am excruciatingly slow at learning disciplines to control my mind."

Zienn held in his response: a rebuke to Spock, partly at the insult to his assessment, partly to jar Spock out of his negativity. He sat unmoving and silent, waited for Spock to say what he was bursting to say.

Spock said, "You believe it is easy because it was easy for you."

Zienn accepted there might be a small truth in this, but expected the greater truth fell in Spock's underestimation of his own abilities. Gradually, Spock's breathing slowed to a rate appropriate to earth. He ceased moving his head around as if seeking something he'd just dropped.

"I understand that I must do this," Spock whispered. "That knowledge is the true source of my current distress. Without it, I could put aside everything else. Although I was having difficulty putting aside my family. Even as I have begun to see personal advantages to doing so."

"As in?"

"I would like someday to believe I am performing adequately at something, and I cannot foresee that occurring while subject to my father's judgement."

Zienn again held back on replying. He had not understood the situation in its entirety, despite extensively melding with Spock. Which had he failed to fully understand: Spock's weaknesses or his strengths?

Spock's knuckles were white, despite his relaxed posture. "The cost of every option I face is too high to bear. I do not see a path that is tolerable. And someday. I hope to find a path that is pleasing."

Zienn had nine things he wanted to say. He said nothing.

Spock bowed his head farther. "I am trapped by my nature. I understand that. I am trapped by my desires. Without them there would be no pain."

Spock must have done some reading on Buddhism.

"But adopting such a posture would leave me subject to other's desires," Spock said. "It leaves me less than myself. I wish to be whole. I feel I have sacrificed more than others have needed to to be Vulcan." Spock closed his eyes half a minute, opened them with more control of himself. "But it is self defeating to dwell on why I am not like others and how it impacts me relative to others."

Maybe this was why benevolent-faced statues worked for some beings seeking answers, Zienn considered as he remained unmoving.

Spock's voice dropped lower. "I was strong enough to leave home into dangers and extreme unknowns twice against my father's wishes. He accepted me back both times. I should not take that for granted, which I perhaps have done. I returned whole from both ordeals, despite experiences I would not have believed survivable beforehand. I do not know why the temple is beyond my limits to imagine tolerating after everything that has transpired, but it is."

Spock stared down at his hands. "Facing the temple training feels akin to facing my brother again. And I horribly overestimated my abilities with him. Now you tell me I am underestimating them." Spock looked up. "You have not spoken."

"I have had nothing of relevance to say." Zienn thought over all the comments and questions that had come to mind. Just as well he hadn't voiced them. "Do you wish to become accustomed to melding?" He thought it absurd to ask and therefore a way of leading Spock to a solution.

"No."

Zienn felt the urge to grow sharp again. Spock's response struck him as stubborn and childish. He said nothing.

"I accept your judgement," Spock said.

Zienn considered that a statue might be better for such discussions.

Spock bowed his head again. "I logically accept that I must give in, that I must give up myself. My father has been warning me and warning James of my believing I have autonomy, that I have my own will-"

"Of course you do."

Spock looked up, brows high. He thought for most of a minute. "I do not see it. Neither you nor my father would consider it reasonable to send me back to the Militants, but I would prefer it to the temple if offered that choice. They, at least, left me alone. They had more respect for each other, in that way. Respect for the idea that there is not just one proper and narrow way that all must follow."

Spock calmed, his shoulders dropped again. "What I hear you saying is what I have always heard on Vulcan, that I am free to do as I am supposed to." Spock seemed to want to say more but held it in.

Zienn kept his voice gentle. "I am not probing your thoughts. What else do you wish to say?"

"Despite how different you are from the norm, you found an honored place on Vulcan that accepted you. I do not think you are fully capable of understanding."

"I agree that we are working from a different set of assumptions. And we will not make any progress until that is resolved."

Spock nodded. His shoulders were bunched up. He appeared defeated and wounded.

Kirk's gaze flicked to Zienn. The human's gaze was neutral, calculating. "Any progress?" Kirk asked in Vulcan.

"Negative progress, perhaps," Zienn said. He turned back to Spock. "It is late. I will go and speak with your father tomorrow when I am fully recovered and better capable of representing your interests. I do not see a path out of this that you will easily accept, but I do not understand everything either."

Spock slowly rose up, posture still bent. Zienn remained on the floor, intending to meditate.

Kirk said, "Come here." He urged Spock to sit beside him, pulled Spock's head to his shoulder, ran his fingers through his hair. His expression was hard, gaze distant and plotting. It didn't change when he turned his head to kiss Spock on the hair.

Zienn gave in to his curiosity and reached out to the human's mind. He found roiling sympathy for Spock, and careful yet casual plotting, thoughts wandering through what could be expected of various senior people in Starfleet, what their priorities were, how a hearing would proceed under different circumstances, different evidence, snippets of memories from a discussion with someone concerning legal matters how best make use of that advice.

"You are different," Zienn said.

Kirk's brows went up. A smile pressed his lips only faintly, but came glowing from his eyes. "Yes." He looked away, looked back. Realized Zienn must be reading him. He spoke in Standard. "Sarek. He's very familiar with at least one human mind. Used that as a model. I feel more myself that I ever have in my life. If that makes sense."

"I see." Zienn said, also in Standard. "I would not have made you so."

Kirk nodded, accepting this.

Spock sat up, swallowed hard.

Kirk stroked the side of Spock's head. "You going to be all right?"

Spock swallowed again. "I am not strong enough. I am not Vulcan enough."

"Why are you conflating those?" Kirk said. "Think of how much you've done. You aren't easily frightened and you certainly aren't weak. You just have a sore spot. Everyone has one."

"That is illogical. If one is strong, they are strong in all things they wish to be."

"Everyone, Spock. Everyone has a weak spot. You are well aware of mine. Several of them." Kirk pointed at Zienn. "Zienn has at least one. His weakness is public spaces and dealing closely with other beings he's not familiar with. What's your father's?"

"He does not possess one."

"Spock. Come on. How about he cannot bear to trust himself to another's care. That's why he waited so long to have his heart dealt with."

"That is not a weakness. That is a desire to be independent."

Kirk pushed a finger into Spock's chest. "That's a weakness. It's a bad one, too. And I'm sure he has others. I suspect Zienn is going to go over there tomorrow and prod right at one of them." He took Spock's face in his hands. "Do you want to be strong enough to walk into the temple and let them teach you everything you need to learn, without so much as a flinch of discomfort?"

Spock's lips stretched thin. "No. I do not wish to go at all."

"Uh huh." Kirk pulled Spock forward and kissed him on the forehead. "I think we've reached the heart of it. Why don't you meditate. We'll work something out tomorrow, okay? I promise."

"How can you promise that?" Spock asked.

Kirk dropped his hands to Spock's shoulders, shook them gently. "Because I've set my mind to it. And I want you to rest your thoughts for the night. That will help more than anything else." He let him go.

Spock slid to the floor in front of the couch, knelt there again.

Kirk tossed the smallest throw pillow to the end of the couch, laid down on it. "If you need me, I'm right here."

Spock slipped into level two meditation. Zienn monitored Spock until he entered level three. The human lay on his side, also watching Spock. Half of what the human had asserted was bravado with insufficient belief behind it. But he wasn't worried about being wrong, or failing. He wasn't worried about himself at all.


	30. Edification

Zienn made his own way via hired aircar to the Vulcan embassy rather than call on Sgroud to escort him. As a result, he stood in the front offices waiting for the receptionists arriving for the day to settle into their desks, two Vulcans males and one earth woman. 

"Can I help you?" the earth woman asked in Vulcan, using words that were never spoken in that order normally, just a supplanting of the earth terms. 

Zienn considered what to say with a twinge of stress. It was true what the human Kirk has asserted, that he had a weak spot dealing with new beings. He didn't want to be standing here among these strangers, in a strange place. He had come here alone to try and prove something: that it was easily possible to suffer one's weak spot if need be. But what he had proved was that it had to be worth it, and this demonstration wasn't. His mind buzzed with discomfort.

Zienn answered in Vulcan. "Is Sgroud available, Sarek's assistant? I need to speak with him about a critical matter."

The earth woman said she would fetch him. She went out through an open doorway. The door and its opening were twice as tall as she was and carved with leaf and ivy decorations in circles and squares. An illogical door.

The two Vulcans settled into their work. Zienn clasped his hands together inside his robes. His head buzzed more. He needed to be more patient with Spock. 

Sgroud came to the open doorway. "Exalted High Priest. You came alone. Follow me. We will talk in private."

The others looked up, watched them depart with curious attention. 

In the depths of the unevenly lit embassy, Zienn said, "I need to speak with Sarek."

"I assumed. I am bringing you to him."

"Thank you," Zienn said in Standard. 

Sgroud turned a raised brow his way. Zienn cherished it while pretending to ignore it.

Sgroud took a few turns off the main hall and stopped before an open office door. He announced Zienn and bowed the priest inside, closed the door between them.

Sarek turned, expressionless. He was holding a sketch of something, circles with labels and notes. He put it down. 

"Exalted High Priest Zienn. You have returned. Was your journey productive?"

Zienn matched Sarek's attitude and said in standard, "Very much so. Thank you." Sarek failed to react to his choice of language. Zienn said in Vulcan, "I am here to speak to you of your son."

"You have spoken with Spock since your return?"

"At length."

"Have you convinced him to depart for training at a temple? I expect you will fare better in doing so than I have."

"I first have a question for you. Why did you issue an ultimatum to Spock regarding this?"

"An ultimatum." Sarek broke eye contact, stepped to the side as if to pace, but he only took one step before turning back. "I suppose it could be described as such. Such training falls under my authority to procure and as such I informed him of the plans for him."

"Did it not occur to you that he would make the alternative choice."

"What alternative choice?"

Zienn raised a brow. "Well, that is a kind of answer."

"May I ask, Exalted High Priest, what you hope to accomplish in this discussion? I begin to observe evidence that I am mistaken in interpreting your intent." Sarek said.

Zienn said, "I intend to mediate between you and your son." Zienn held up a hand when Sarek started the speak. 

Sarek quieted, but with clear reluctance.

Zienn lowered his hand. "I comprehend Spock's position quite well, it is yours I am unclear on. Perhaps if you explain to me the logic behind your actions."

Sarek stared at him. "I do not understand your lack of understanding. You stated that my son required training and I have procured it."

Zienn stared back, continued doing so until Sarek shifted. Sarek seemed to want to pace, but he fell still instead.

"Do you not see the position Spock is in?" Zienn said. 

Sarek's gaze lost its hardness. Zienn had indeed prodded right at his weak spot. The human Kirk was a being of keen foresight.

Zienn nodded to himself. "Logical that this is the key issue. In answer to your previous question: yes, Spock is well convinced that he requires training in a temple. That is not what is at issue."

"Inform me then, Exalted High Priest, what is at issue."

"I do not know. I need you to enlighten me on that."

Zienn could sense Sarek holding back on speaking, the additional energy in his neck and jaw gave it away. Zienn resisted reaching in to see what Sarek's thoughts were. 

"I made a mistake," Zienn said. "I was cowardly in not addressing this before departing because I knew it would distress Spock and I did not wish to experience this distress personally. My second mistake was in assuming you would know better than I how to handle such a situation with your grown son. What I need to understand, firstly, is why you offered Spock such a poor choice--"

"You continue to mention a choice, alternatives."

Zienn had been interrupted. He remained calm and quiet. Many minutes. Sarek looked away and fell still throughout it.

Zienn said, "Your son has spent the days since my departure trying accept his decision to leave this family. It is to your great benefit that you and his mother are a set that cannot be put asunder, or I am certain he would have managed to accept that future. As it is, he continues to suffer for his failure to do so."

Zienn waited for Sarek's gaze to return from inward. Sarek's heart rate remained elevated. This was indeed a sore spot.

Zienn said, "I would be pleased to hear you speak now."

"I did not see that option for Spock. The human, James, did see it and mentioned it to me." Sarek paced three steps and remained facing the wall. "But I often do not see these things, not matter how much effort I exert. He is impossible to comprehend, or guide. He is constantly up to something unexpected beneath the surface. He does not use his control of his emotions to be properly Vulcan, but to hide his intent. It has always been so."

"Are we speaking of Spock?" Zienn said. "This assessment does not match my observations."

Sarek turned. His brows were low, eyes narrowed. "Are you asserting that I do not know my son?"

"Yes, that is the logical conclusion."

Sarek's voice became clipped. "If you were of any other rank of honor, I would inform you that your involvement in this matter is no longer necessary."

Zienn relaxed his posture, bowed. "I apologize for provoking you. Do not make it so that I learn much more when I do."

Sarek clasped his hands and bowed also. "I should not have lost my stoicism, Exalted High Priest."

"Can you be direct with me?"

Sarek remained accepting. "I thought I was."

"Why are you handling your son in this manner? And do not inform me of your authority over these matters. I sense it has little to do with that."

Zienn heard Sarek's heart rate increase again, but Sarek didn't speak.

"Now I sense shame and panic and helplessness," Zienn said. 

Sarek again grew sharp, and deeply alarmed.

"You can speak or I can provoke you," Zienn said pleasantly. "I know you do not wish me to simply pluck your thoughts from your head."

"That would be highly improper."

Zienn spoke with an air of boredom. "It is within my authority to do so. I am outside the bounds of normal society and its rules. I am Exalted. I did not assign myself this place. Our mutual culture did." He found himself tired of it. Perhaps if he abused it, he could shed it, a notion that hadn't occurred to him until just now.

Zienn breathed slowly in and out, watched Sarek do the same. "Do you prefer I read your thoughts? It would be logical to since you are incapable of speaking."

Sarek fixed his gaze on the cold firepot in the corner. "I am deeply concerned about Spock. He obeys in a thousand small ways so that he may disobey in major ways once he has worked out how to. He has no sense of his place. He repeatedly abandons the family for wild ideas."

"It is my understanding that he previously did this to save his planet. Is that not so?"

"That was a fortunate side-effect of circumstance."

"I am certain it was his intent from the beginning."

A tension rose in Sarek's muscles. His voice fell quiet. "He was with his brother an absurdly long time. And he was willing to see him again, despite proclaiming the horrors of his presence."

Zienn moved beyond Sarek's tense nerves and into his thoughts. It was easy to. He saw Spock's stubbornness, his stealthy half truths, his inward focus of all his attentions, not as a self defense mechanism to survive in a world where he didn't fit in and could not get approval from, but as actions with malicious intent.

Sarek's head jerked around. "I will not tolerate that, even from a high priest."

"Hm." Zienn looked straight up at the overwrought decorative plaster. "At least now I understand. And I do not think you were capable of stating your side of the truth, even if sufficiently provoked. I do not apologize."

"Do you do this to the humans around you?"

"Constantly. How do you think I get by without their language? They deduce it and they adapt. Sometimes within minutes. I have heard Vulcans wonder how humans are so successful in this galaxy. That is why. They adapt in days to something it would require Vulcan centuries to tolerate."

Sarek stood tall in his heavy robes. "Nevertheless."

Zienn spoke from a well of calm in response. "The same tokens of authority you are using to order Spock to the temple grant me the right to use my skills. If you wish to negate one set of rights, you will have to give up both."

Sarek tipped his head down, strode with sandals scuffing across the room to a small fussy desk.

Zienn said, "Do you trust my skills as a high priest?"

"Yes. You are highly regarded. And I saw personally how healed you rendered the extremely damaged James with little knowledge of humans. Something I am extremely grateful for."

"I let him guide me."

"That is likely where the last details went wrong. Injured humans turn inward, to their long-term detriment."

"I see. And I appreciate your success at repairing my error. He seems quite pleased now and competent in managing his world."

Sarek turned back, clasped his hands together. Nodded.

Zienn said, "I have melded with Spock for many hours both times he has had exposure to his brother. Do you trust my skills and my ability to assess him?"

"Yes."

"Then will you trust me when I insist you need not fear Spock?"

Sarek's face became more chiseled. His voice grew distant. "I would be highly pleased to accept that. But it is difficult to."

"For what reason?"

"It does not match my experience of him. There are too many parallels. And you come to inform me of more. Of course I am going to take action." His voice fell farther. "Though there is not much truly useful action I can take. That I know too well. I, logically, still must do what I can. The risk is too high."

Zienn dropped his arms, exhaled. "Sarek of Shikahr, the core of your son's soul is nothing but kindness."

Sarek's strained gaze came back to Zienn's.

"You have not melded with him since he was very young," Zienn said.

"He refuses. Just as he refuses a bond. I arranged for the clan to accept a bonding to the human Kirk and Spock snarled at me. His brother also, vehemently refused all bondmate arrangements."

"I also made the mistake of suggesting that," Zienn said. "But I see better now that it was akin to offering a fine pair of gloves to someone who has lost their arms. And it is an insult to expect the receiver to be pleased."

"You healed him, you said, from those injuries."

"I healed the scars. I removed the ongoing disturbance to his logic and control. His memories of the melds are intact. His memories of the subsequent pain are also intact, nor can they be altered without altering him. Those memories, especially of the helplessness, are ingrained in him."

Sarek's head bowed. 

Zienn said, "It is the reason he resists melding now, except with myself."

"He allowed us to betroth him, twice."

"He allowed that only to please you. Because he was trying to prove he was not his brother, he went to great effort to sustain those bonds. But Spock has now reached his limit on what he sees as futilely attempting to please you. As a result you must alter, in total, how you interact with him. Do you understand this?"

Sarek's words were quiet. "If I could share your certainty that Spock's skills do not represent a danger it would change a great deal of my thinking."

"I am more dangerous than your son." Zienn said. "Spock has nothing in him but kindness and love. Which you never see, because neither of those are logic. He hides his true self to please you and struggles the while, which you do see, and misinterpret because the past has primed you to deduce other reasons for it."

Sarek looked around, seeming lost. "When I last called him here . . . I had gone to great lengths to fix things for him, to ease his journey, and he became someone else as I informed him. He became rigid and wild at the same time. That along with the burgeoning skills you tell me he has leave me extremely concerned."

"You had finally allowed Spock, for the first time in his life, to live in a situation that pleases him, and you take that away, and as a result he is in distress. He starts from that state of distress and hopelessness of pleasing you in all his dealings with you. His is braver and stronger than you seem to appreciate. But he is not a machine."

Sarek stood still, hands clasped together inside his robe sleeves.

"I have two things I wish you to do." Zienn said, then waited, but Sarek didn't reply or move. "I want you to release Spock from your command to attend a temple."

Sarek looked up in alarm.

Zienn said, "He understands he must do this. Tell him you trust him to arrange his life around that need himself."

Sarek continued to stare.

Zienn continued, "The second thing I am instructing you to do is to spend a few hours alone with him and get to know him."

Sarek continued to not move.

"I suppose I have a third thing," Zienn said. "Believe, deeply, that Spock is incapable of harming anyone, no matter the priestly skills he demonstrates."

Sarek looked away, face stubborn.

Zienn said, "You are going to get to know Spock by doing the following: Inquire about his life--"

"I do that often. I do not get a reply of any substance."

Zienn fell silent. Waited. He could out-wait a senior monk, for days; he could certainly out-wait Sarek.

Minutes later, Sarek bowed, conceded. Defeat was beginning to show in the shape of his shoulders.

Zienn found he needed to reassemble his patience this time. That should not have been necessary. He waited until he had fixed himself, fully relieved of his own annoyance, which had the added benefit of forcing Sarek to wait even longer.

"You will accomplish this by refraining from criticizing Spock," Zienn said. "Even once. For the duration of his visit. And you will inquire about things he cares about. Those will be the only topics. You will do this?"

Sarek appeared disbelievingly. "I do not understand, but if you command it, I must obey."

"Right," Zienn said in Standard. "When you have completed this we will find a solution that benefits all involved. But especially Spock."

"May I enquire why you have taken this up as a cause? I seek to know what you gain in this before I move forward."

"You do not wish to hear it. That is my Exalted opinion. Can you accept that?"

"I need to know why you are on Spock's side."

"Because someone needs to be."

Sarek's jaw tightened. "The human, Kirk, expressed something similar. I do not understand this."

"Then I doubt I am capable of communicating it. For the record, the human, Kirk, is more on your side than I am. For his own reasons he cannot bear for Spock to reduce your presence in his life. I am far less nostalgic."

"And your motives, High Priest. I humbly request that you elucidate your position," Sarek said.

Zienn paused to slip into a deeper calm. "I did too little at the time I saw Spock when he was young. I too was young for my position and did not understand my authority. I knew you were not going to listen to me and that Spock would come to more harm. But I did nothing. I left responsibility with you, as it was, by the standards of our culture, your sole purview. I did the same again just weeks ago and we are again at a crisis. I will not back out this time until the situation is arranged equitably for Spock. You, on the other hand, can take care of your own affairs."

Zienn raised a brow, said, "So. Can I trust that you will follow my advice? I have given you three simple things to do."

Sarek said, "I do not fully see the logical of your advice. I confess."

"I did not ask if you had faith in my advice."

Sarek nodded once. "I will follow it."

"Spock has Academy related activities today. The human, Kirk, insisted he attend. I sense that attending injures Spock in some hard to discern way, but I deferred to Kirk in this. I will send Spock to you when he returns from this."

Sarek looked like he dearly wanted to argue more, but he nodded.


	31. Accord

Spock entered the embassy dining room, slipping in in near silence. He wore scruffy brown robes but his hair was neatly trimmed.

"Father," Spock said great reserve. He didn't meet Sarek's gaze. He ran his eyes over the long, unset table.

"We are dining in the tea room," Sarek said. "Come."

The curved wall of the half moon shaped room was lined with faceted windows that looked out on a narrow light-well at the heart of the embassy building. The larger of the marble tea tables was set for two.

"Where is Mother?"

"She is auditioning caterers for an event. If you remain until nine or perhaps eight-thirty, you will see her."

Spock appeared reluctant to take a seat. He finally did so, rested his hands in his lap, sat tall with detached calm.

Sarek sat and pulled in his chair with an easy movement of his entire body. He felt stronger again today than he had the day before, just like the day before, and the one before that. He had Spock to credit for that. Not this Spock exactly, but the one who had been set loose by a state of Ormalan and behaved without scruple or hesitation to arrange things exactly his way. But Zienn insisted Spock harbored no malevolence, that he harbored exactly the opposite. And this Spock was not that one, even if the potential of that one lurked within this one.

Sarek had told the kitchen staff to wait for his signal. He poured out water for himself and for Spock, who watched this action with an expression Sarek could not put a meaning on. Spock's control often slipped when he lost concentration, but that didn't mean Sarek comprehended Spock's revealed emotions, a situation which had always irritated Sarek as the worst of both worlds.

Sarek sat back. He considered that Spock would likely not look up at him anytime soon to open the conversation. Sarek said, "Zienn insists that I release you from my requirement that you to attend a temple for high priest training." This was not the way Sarek had intended to phrase this. His pride had arranged his words.

Spock looked up, sought something in Sarek's face, then fell into remote stillness again. "I still must go."

Sarek picked up the water and sipped. "If you trust Exalted High Priest Zienn's assessment, yes. You do."

Spock frowned at the place setting before himself for two minutes, revealing nothing but leaked traces of an exhausted misery.

"How is James faring?" Sarek asked.

This roused Spock. "Quite well. I have not properly thanked you. I apologize for not expressing gratitude to you sooner."

"I do not require gratitude for what was indisputably my duty." Sarek paused, wondered if that could be criticism. He moved on quickly. "It was my responsibility to repair. I am pleased to have done so. I must now try and repair James's career as well."

"He said you hired a lawyer for him."

"Recommended and scheduled, which is difficult enough as she is in high demand. He will not allow me to pay her."

"He has a great deal of pride at stake in these matters."

"Yes. As I have discovered. I am certainly willing to leave it as his concern but guarantee him with the lawyer if necessary."

Sarek signaled for the tea to come in. The staff member came in with due efficiency, delivered the service and departed again. Sarek poured for the two of them. The scent of the Vulcan dry season, baked yhuwa stems, filled the room.

"How are your courses at the academy?" Sarek asked.

Spock kept his hands clasped in his lap, his head down. "They are interesting."

Sarek shifted his teacup and saucer closer to himself after rearranging the rest of the place setting to make room. "Any observations additional to that?"

"They are more diverse than expected. We study galactic literature, for example."

"And your instructors. How are they?"

"The Propulsion instructor has been teaching for thirty one years, and has a rather emotionally charged methodology that conveys not only the material but the importance of the material. He varies the assignments quite a lot as well, and demands a great deal from every level of student. He was a twenty year veteran engineer aboard a Constitution Class starship. The literature instructor also teaches at Oxford and has two PhDs one in culture and one in early modern earth literature . . ."

Sarek realized that his intent had been misconstrued and Spock felt the need to recite each curriculum vitae in an effort to defend his instructors' right to be instructors.

Sarek cut Spock off. "They all sound qualified, as I would expect."

Spock looked up, considered Sarek, looked down again.

"Are your courses challenging you?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"Which is the most challenging?"

"I would previously have said the literature course in that I am expected to read symbols and secondary meaning in stories that do not contain them as far as I can ascertain. But this last week I have started a short course in Starship Design intended for Starfleet line officers returning for additional qualifications either for advancement or as a way to change their posting to a more desirable one. It is a most difficult course and I have been attempting to obtain a cursory knowledge of the myriad underlying topics necessary to even manage a rudimentary participation."

"Why are you attending such a course if you are so unqualified for it?" Sarek heard his own sharp tone of rebuke too late, but Spock did not react negatively, or at all.

Spock said, "I was ordered to."

Sarek made an effort to sound gentler. He had undeniably failed just now. "By whom? Is this common?"

"By the instructor, Captain Chanel. And it is not unheard of."

"Captain Chanel. That name is familiar, but details regarding her are not."

"If you have met her, I believe you would remember her with more certainty."

"I would?"

"She is, rather free with her words, outside the bounds of propriety. But she is an expert in a field that lacks true experts."

"You came to her attention how?"

"She conducted one of my admission interviews and she has been attempting to help James with his administrative difficulties."

"And she decided you needed to take her course despite your lack of qualifications?"

"Yes."

"Shall I speak to her?"

Spock lifted his chin. "Regarding what? Her orders to me or her attempts to use me to seduce James?"

Sarek refrained from reacting. "Either one."

"I managed to learn sufficient material to survive the first week of class. And it will not matter since it is likely I cannot attend more."

"Tell me what topics you learned in order to prepare," Sarek said, then sipped his tea.

"Wiring and piping layout techniques, the energy needs of various systems, structural standards, Starfleet's design specifications and how they were implemented in the most recent ship designs, architectural design and livability." Spock trailed off.

"In only a few weeks? Did it please you to take in so much?"

"Yes." Spock at first stopped there, but he visibly could not resist speaking more. "Ship design is an extremely difficult task. In a minor example, the channels that hold the piping and power can be reduced by reusing said channels, but at the cost of maintainability. One cannot assume that the shield on one system will remain powered while one is working on the other sharing the same conduit. A certain amount of redundancy is necessary, but too much will make the ship too cumbersome."

Spock's eyes brightened, his speech become earnest. He talked on, explaining the complications and trade-offs of various systems of a ship, propulsion, living spaces, the need for human and outworlder centric cultural considerations in the cabins, corridors and gathering areas. Sarek half listened, watching more than hearing. He was taking in the real Spock that had emerged from one well-placed question, the Spock that everyone else saw, or that at least Zienn and Kirk saw.

Spock said, "It is an n to the n problem. Akin to attempting to plot the optimum outcome of a chess match except that beings must exist inside it in deep space and it must be repairable."

Spock paused as if to check he had not talked too long. Sarek tilted his head in interest. Spock went on, explaining the lifecycle of Starfleet's ship classes, how they were kept distinct by limiting changes within each class, taking different branches of problem solving to their extremes. His thoughts were too deep in his topic to hide himself. He appeared to be a keenly intelligent, placidly energetic young Vulcan, exactly what had been expected of him his entire life. This was not a deception. It was clearly the result of a loosening of his disciplines through full distraction of his thoughts and emotions. Spock was exactly whom Sarek had wanted him to be all along.

Spock was describing the structure of the course. "Captain Chanel expects each student to complete a project on an actual vessel. I intend to ask Commander Overlander, who is in charge of the USS Apollo while it is in dock for a full overhaul, to obtain the necessary permission for me to do a project on that vessel while it is being worked on for the next four and a half months."

Spock's speech slowed to a stop, he dropped his gaze. He curled his shoulders and sat brooding, like one ordered to meditate but refusing. It was indeed his distorted disciplines that gave him the appearance of one hiding unsavory intentions. If he simply let go of them, he was transformed.

Spock appeared to pull yet more brutal disciplines down over a strong emotion. The pause stretched into minutes.

"Spock?"

Spock straightened his back and reached for his tea, but simply adjusted its position on the table. "It perhaps does not matter."

Sarek signaled for the soup. "You are free to organize your other training as you see fit, Spock. If it pleases you to complete this course and this project, you can do so."

The staff came in and exchanged the items on the table. Spock sat forward at the scent of Plomeek soup pouring out with the steam from the tureen. Sarek had requested it specifically. It had been the one thing that almost always drew a sullen young Spock into eating. It had been fortunate that with all his difficulties, that he'd had a human's weakness for the pleasures of food.

Spock watched the ladle as he was served, mesmerized by it. Sarek felt his concerns relaxing. The staff departed. Spock took a bite, but had to put an effort into swallowing. He put the spoon down and sat meditatively.

"What is the duration of a term?" Sarek asked.

"Twenty two weeks."

"I can arrange things at the Academy, and at the Temple, to accommodate that. You need simply tell me what you wish to do."

"It not logical to wait."

"I do not understand your logic. If it pleases you to make the best of this opportunity with this vessel and this course, then you should do so."

Spock sat back, consciously rested his hands in his lap. "I have been attempting make the best of it. It has grown most displeasing to attend to my studies with the threat of temple training ahead of me. There is no logic in sustaining such displeasure with my current situation that I would otherwise expect to enjoy."

Sarek put down his spoon and also sat back. "You would be well served by learning to sequester the present from the future and the past. Or the immediate from the distant. Or vice versa."

Spock nodded vaguely, spoke in a stilted way. "Yes. I likely would be well served."

Sarek had again slipped, had not followed the high priest's instructions, and was now faced with Spock's bleak sarcasm.

Spock swallowed hard, picked up his spoon and ate slowly. Sarek sat quietly, waiting. Spock ate half the bowl and put the spoon down again, waited also.

Sarek stood up, moved his chair a quarter turn around the table to place it close to Spock's, at a forty-five degree angle. He arranged his robes and sat again, leaning forward. This unusual behavior had Spock's full attention.

"Spock, if I could withdraw the necessity for this training from you, I would do so."

Spock bowed his head. He had worn heavy, unstyled robes again this evening, the kind for walking in the desert dust in the evening or early morning when the air was cool. Sarek had expected him to wear his uniform and now he wondered at the meaning of Spock's choice of clothes this visit and the last.

"May I have your thoughts, my son?"

Spock's shoulders pulled upward protectively. "I would prefer not."

"I was thinking it might help you become accustomed to melding with others, since that is part of your difficulty."

Spock didn't respond.

Sarek said, "It is highly improper for me to ask for an explanation, but I need to understand better if I am to assist you."

One of Spock's shoulders rose higher still, he tilted his head. It seemed a subconscious reaction and it spoke of primal distress. "It is uncomfortable."

Sarek steepled his fingers before himself as if preparing for a meld, but not actually preparing. He needed the disciplines to keep his own reactions in check.

"I realize it is difficult," Sarek managed to say with steady serenity. "That was part of my logic, that I can be gentler with you than a stranger, help you become . . . inured, perhaps is the word." He could not find another that was honest. A Vulcan should not need to become inured to melding.

"I am ashamed of my poor disciplines," Spock said. "All the years of lessons, I have been able to apply very little, usefully." Spock lifted his arm to gesture at himself. "I have cobbled together what I can to get by. I do not wish you to see this."

"You have improved since Exalted High Priest Zienn's healing." Indeed, watching Spock prepare to face his brother, intending to have an unwitting Kirk in tow. Sarek had never seen anyone, pure Vulcan or otherwise, more locked down, or more dutiful. It had been so flawless controlled as to feed Sarek's worst doubts at the time.

Spock said, "I saw by example how he nurtured a core of calm within himself. It was not a method I was ever taught. But even that new technique is failing me now, as if it is a muscle that has grown fatigued and requires rest to recover to use of it."

It was improper, and the purpose of it was not entirely clear to Sarek, but he reached out and put a hand around Spock's forearm. Spock looked at him as if they had just met and he wasn't sure if he knew him.

"How may I assist you, Spock?"

Spock seemed to search for an answer for long moments. "I do not think you can."

"The offer of a meld remains open. As to your disciplines, I will not judge them."

Spock's brows angled in disbelief.

Sarek almost let go of Spock's arm to withdraw into his own controls. He instead left himself outward and vulnerable. "I suppose it is only logical to expect to receive judgement." Sarek felt the coarse material of Spock's robe sleeve under his hand. Spock had chosen a less than comfortable robe.

"There is a painful irony at work here," Sarek said. "You are too Vulcan to have avoided inheriting these skills, but not Vulcan enough to tolerate the training to manage them."

"I was not supposed to inherit them. I presume."

"No." Sarek tightened his hand around Spock's arm. "And I have been trying to figure out a solution to this, but cannot. The only idea of any merit is sending you with a companion."

Spock's expression revealed his confusion.

"Your cousin T'Thune has insisted upon being tested three times for the proper skills to be a priestess, but she has failed each time. The Ira'shi Temple accepts those, such as yourself, who do not wish to go on to full time study at an advanced temple and they accept those who wish to experience the training, but are not required to."

"I have not seen T'Thune in four years and a month."

"Yes," Sarek said, remembering the family gathering in question. Spock's cousin Srinn had suffered a broken collar bone, he claimed from falling while climbing the high rocks. T'Thune told a different story, about a fight. Spock had refused to speak. It was the sort of confusion of lies and mysterious injury that had plagued Sybok's childhood.

"Perhaps you can explain to me what happened that day," Sarek said.

Spock visibly relaxed into speaking. "T'Thune insisted upon getting far enough away from the adults to practice her insults. She is surprisingly adept and creative at this hobby. She eventually insulted you and mother in terms I did not understand at the time. So I challenged her. She put Srinn up as her champion."

"Srinn was two years older and more than a head and shoulders larger than you," Sarek said.

Spock stared. "Why did you send me off to martial arts, three different ancient arts, nine days out of ten, if not so I could survive my cousins?"

"We did it because we were assured by experts that your brain development would progress best if we tied your acquisition of mental discipline to physical activities. But do go on with the recounting."

Spock shrugged lightly. "Srinn did not know how to fall." Spock fell thoughtful. "I spent two entire years at the beginning of my lessons, learning nothing but falls and defensive moves. Watching others learn weapons and kicks and jumps and maneuvers of every sort. But it was falls and blocks only for me. I was promised and always put off doing anything interesting."

"You were considered easy to injure."

"Whatever the reason. Srinn knew nothing despite attending exactly the same lessons. A simple rotation of his leg to flip him after ducking under his kick and he landed poorly and began to howl. What I remember most is how acutely disappointed I was that he had succumbed so quickly. To the adults, T'Thune implied I had started it, which perhaps was true in that I challenged her to put a stop to her mouth. Srinn was too ashamed to admit what had happened. He had been climbing the rocks earlier and he had slid off them a few times. He told a lie through substitution of one event for another."

Sarek shook his head. "It is all meaningless now. But I assume arranging for T'Thune to attend at the same time would not assist you."

"Has she changed?"

"Not appreciably."

"Then she would assist in that by comparison, my presence would acceptable."

Sarek grew forceful. "Your presence will be acceptable. I made certain of that."

Spock's mouth stretched thin. He bowed his head.

Sarek said, "Speak."

Spock didn't raise his head. He spoke to his lap. "What would you have me say? I have nothing to say that is not potentially hurtful."

"Speak it anyway."

"It is in the past."

"Nevertheless."

Spock closed his eyes. "You make your selection based on your assumptions but it is I who must suffer the result. The attempts to remake me and the constant disapproval and distaste. I have no faith in your selection."

Sarek felt no insult at this, only more annoyance with the general circumstances which were out of his control. He let go of Spock and steepled his hands. "Given what I have seen you face with full proper separation of your emotions from your decisions and actions, I should allow more credence to your current distress. And your doubts."

"I would prefer to live again with the Outliers for three years than go to a temple."

Sarek paused to see if Spock would indicate this was sarcasm or a jest, but he did not. "Fortunately or unfortunately, that is not an option."

Spock's brows went up.

"I remain surprised that you were not harmed by being associated with them."

"I was left to myself much of the time. But I did find it difficult to remain passive when there was senseless violence."

"Does this still cause you distress?"

Spock thought about his answer, again pulled his disciplines over himself with visible effort.

"My son, it may be better to relax your controls for a time."

Spock looked away, flushed around his jaw line. "I cannot."

"You may. I am giving you permission to. But I am still hoping for a response."

"Yes, I still find that aspect of my experience to be a source of distress."

"As any moral being should."

Spock turned to him, swallowed hard.

"I realized today that I have long been a failed practitioner of our philosophy of IDIC. I have not given you any room to grow the best qualities of your mother. Which was an error on my part."

Spock appeared too weary to react.

Sarek said, "Perhaps you are still young enough we can rectify that. I am relieved, now that I understand better, that James is there for you as an exemplar of humanity."

Spock's shoulders relaxed. His face lost the edge of weary straining. It was a start.

"There are fresh lig'ton berries for dessert," Sarek said. "The Japanese have begun growing them under the mistaken belief they hold some kind of medicinal benefit for humans, despite tasting horrifically astringent to them."

Spock straightened. "Fresh?"

Sarek touched Spock's arm again, then stood to move his chair back to his place setting. He sat back and held off on signaling the staff. "Spock, my son. I cannot offer anything but commiseration for your situation. If I could do more, I would."

Spock looked up at him with an open expression. "Your words alone help a great deal more than perhaps they logically should."

Sarek signaled for dessert. "In that case I will try to provide you with more of them."

Spock lowered his head, presumably to hide his emotions. He raised it again as a bowl was put in front of him. The fresh scent filled the room. He looked them over, expression unguarded. He looked up and waited with hands relaxed in his lap for Sarek to start eating.

Sarek ate a berry and then another only so Spock wouldn't stop.


	32. Arrangment

At Overlander's apartment, Kirk lowered himself to the floor to sit crosslegged directly in front of Zienn.

"I need you to help me," Kirk said in his broken Vulcan.

Zienn opened his eyes. 

Kirk said, "I promised Spock a solution. Today."

"That was unwise of you."

Overlander was drinking a beer from the bottle. She came to stand beside them as if to make sure Kirk didn't get out of line.

"I know from your thoughts that you are determined to see Spock through this," Kirk was hopelessly mixing Vulcan and Standard. He blundered on, "I don't know if it's unfair or improper to draw upon what I learned in the meld with you but I'm down to four hours here."

Zienn nodded. "I am listening."

"There has to be an alternative. Why can't you take Spock to your temple?"

"I am not going back to it for a time. I have not decided when."

"But Spock doesn't want to go yet anyway."

"It is an exclusive temple for advanced priests and priestesses working on esoteric projects."

"So?"

Zienn raised both brows. "He will not even be allowed in."

"He was allowed in before."

"That was a mistake by the gate priest. Unlikely to be repeated."

"How about training him here?"

Zienn shook his head. "It is far too mentally noisy here. And I am not a training priest, not even remotely. Nor are the most others at Kipraro."

Kirk slapped his palms onto his knees. "You keep telling me why this won't work. How about telling me why it will?"

"You are illogical."

"Humor me."

Kirk lifted his fingers one at a time. "Spock was let into Kipraro once. You helped him immensely with this core centering technique he learned by example alone. I almost didn't know him the first time I saw him after that. I think you did more for him than years of formal instruction. Someone at that place must be at least somewhat qualified. How many priests and priestesses are there?"

"It varies. It is a flexible place. Somewhere between forty four and seventy."

Kirk lifted up another finger. "It's a flexible place."

"It is insular and has very specific requirements or the work will be disrupted."

"Did Spock disrupt it last time?"

Zienn fell still. "No. He kept worrying he was, but he did not. But he was only there a short time."

Kirk lifted a full hand of fingers. "Spock is capable of staying mentally out of the way. At least short term. So it is possible." Kirk resisted putting his hands on the high priest's knees. "Zienn, please. Can't you give Spock a chance at Kipraro? Just that. I need it to be the plan, not necessarily to work out. Even if he only can be there an hour, that's enough. Knowing that is the plan would let Spock enjoy this term at the Academy, which he dearly needs to fully experience. He will be so much more confident once he gets a full term behind him. And if it doesn't work out at Kipraro, he's no worse off."

Zienn studied Kirk. "This is what Sarek turned you into."

Kirk leaned forward, rocked up on his knees. "Is that a yes?"

"It is an assurance that I will attempt to take him there. I rate the likelihood of it working out to be very low, if not zero."

"I'm not asking for it to work." Kirk sat back. "Thank you," he said with great sincerity. 

Kirk scrambled to his feet, took up a jacket, and went out the door.

Overlander watched him go, drained the last third of the bottle she held. Zienn wanted to ask her if Kirk's behavior was normal human behavior, but she wouldn't understand his question. Her thoughts seemed to hold it as normal for Kirk, if not entertaining.

\-------- 8888 --------

"James Kirk," Amanda said as Kirk approached the embassy door by the faint path lighting at the edges of the stones. She was just getting out of a groundcar.

"Lady Amanda. I'm sorry. I'm here without an invitation."

"You are always welcome, please come in."

A servant Kirk didn't recognize escorted them inside. 

"I didn't realize you weren't here for the dinner with Spock," Kirk said.

"I had embassy business to attend to. And I was encouraged not to reschedule." She gave him a raised brow expression. "But that doesn't mean I couldn't rush said business along."

Kirk smiled. 

They found Sarek and Spock in the tea room, talking in low voices.

"James," Spock said in surprise, then greeted his mother, who gestured that he should remain seated.

Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "I have three and a half hours local time left."

Spock dropped his gaze, showing stress. Servants appeared and reset the table with four dessert settings.

Kirk said, "How was dinner?"

Spock and Sarek looked at each other.

"It was productive," Sarek said.

Two more chairs were brought in. Kirk made a playfully doubtful noise and sat down, shared a smile with Amanda. 

"You seem to have all of the dessert," Kirk said, regarding a pile of lavender colored berries before Spock and none before Sarek.

"Would you like one?" Spock asked.

"Are they poisonous?"

"No, but you will not find them palatable."

"Well, give one over then," Kirk said, holding out one of several small plates he had before him. Kirk stared at the single berry on his plate and crossed his arms, leaving it for later, in case it really was trouble. "So, Spock," Kirk said. "I've changed your arrangements. A bit."

On Kirk's left, Sarek sat back suddenly.

Kirk said, "Zienn is going to--"

"Exalted High Priest Zienn," Sarek said.

Kirk stopped and smiled at Sarek. "If he lets you call him that, Ambassador, then you're an exception. If one of us calls him that, he pointedly ignores us for hours as punishment. He strongly dislikes to be called that. But if you prefer it, when he's not here, I will use his full title. I apologize if I seemed disrespectful. I have nothing but respect for him."

Sarek hesitated, then nodded that Kirk should continue. 

Kirk turned back to Spock. "Exalted High Priest Zienn is going to take you to Kipraro Temple and arrange for himself and any qualified others to tutor you." To Spock's stunned expression, Kirk said, "Now, this might not work out, for myriad reasons, but he's going to try. And it's an open place and this won't have a fixed regime. So you can show up whenever you please and you aren't locked into staying. Does that sound better?"

Spock's voice was quiet. "I had not considered it."

"Neither had Zienn. Sorry, Exalted High Priest Zienn. Vulcans are surprisingly inflexible thinkers." Kirk turned to Sarek. "Apologizes for that."

"It is a point of pride for us, actually," Sarek said.

"Ah, well, good." Kirk turned to the funny, half shiny, half fuzzy berry before him. He picked it up and sniffed it. It smelled rather good, like overripe grapes and coconut and just a general overbearing unidentifiable fruity essence. He popped it in his mouth and jerked his head sideways at the extreme astringency. Kirk dabbed his suddenly watering eyes. "Well," he croaked. "Needs sugar."

Amanda's delicate hand passed him the sugar bowl. 

Kirk ate a spoonful and a took a gulp of hot, perfectly ordinary earth tea. The fruit had left a wake of intense bright berry taste behind, but it had also left a numb streak on his tongue.

Kirk put his tea down with great care, put on an attitude of the perfectly ordinary and turned back to Spock. "Feeling better?"

Spock was hiding amusement behind a distant air. He nodded. "And you?"

Kirk coughed delicately into his hand. "Yeah." Kirk sat back with a feeling of satisfaction, surveyed the others at the table. Amanda smiled as she sipped her tea. Sarek had no expression, and wasn't hiding that he studied Kirk closely.

Amanda reached a hand over to Spock but laid it short of his arm. "Will you be all right with this arrangement, Spock?"

Spock took a deep breath. "It is a significant improvement."

"I want you to enjoy your first term," Kirk said. "That's the most important thing."

Spock's gaze grew vulnerable. "I appreciate that, James. And I am grateful to you for arranging it."

They spoke of Spock's classes, the upcoming open house at the embassy. Herbal tea was refreshed and finished again. Kirk tried not to yawn for the third time in as many minutes.

Amanda said, "Why don't you remain the night? It is late. We can have a nice breakfast together."

Kirk, who had been eating at the mess far too much said, "Sounds excellent. Spock?"

Spock nodded and stood. They said formal good nights. Sarek appeared withdrawn, or perhaps relieved. Kirk couldn't tell which.

Spock led the way to his room, up two sets of stairs. The large room had a rounded alcove of windows on one far corner as if it might be extending into a turret. The curved, faceted windows danced with the streetlights outside.

Spock turned on the light. The room stood in the cool light, spare and neat. A pair of wide wardrobes stood on one wall. A long desk lined the far wall. The high row of windows had a single bed under it.

Kirk stepped up to Spock and slid his arms around him, held him for long moments, adjusted his hands and held him more tightly. Spock relaxed his neck and let his head rest alongside Kirk's.

"I want you to be okay," Kirk said into Spock's hair.

"I believe the odds of achieving that have improved."

Kirk leaned back, arms loose but still hooked around Spock's shoulders. He considered warning Spock that he was going to request an assignment in an active battle zone, but decided to let Spock enjoy his new freedom a while. Kirk may not even get his commission back, so it may not matter. He released Spock, rubbed his eye.

Spock said, "You should sleep. I will do my studies."

Kirk went to the attached washroom to clean up. Came back and stripped completely before crawling into Spock's bed. The bedding and pillows smelled of the house in Shikahr, which drew old memories up behind Kirk's closed eyelids.

Kirk fluffed the pillow and rolled onto his back, covered to the waist, arms over his head. He felt satisfied with things but too energetic for sleep. He relaxed each muscle, starting with his toes, not expecting to fall asleep, but following old habit. His body hung onto awareness, listening to the quiet sounds of Spock working. During the times that the sounds stopped, Kirk suspected Spock was watching him. 

The bed creaked. Kirk had drifted off. He opened his eyes and lowered his arms. Spock was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a distant expression.

"I was estimating the odds that you were real."

"I, personally, think they're pretty high that I am."

"You could be a figment of a fevered imagination or vision due to alien influence. I computed the odds and it is coming up nearly even between that and reality."

Kirk smiled affectionately. "What brought on the computation?"

"It seemed highly unlikely a being such as yourself would be in my room. Therefore, I computed the odds of it. And they are not high. They are, in fact, alarmingly low."

Kirk laughed. "That's true for everyone. And everything that happens. Isn't it?"

Spock paused. "Your philosophy, as always, is unexpected."

Kirk reached up. "Come here."

Kirk shifted over and grabbed Spock up as he pressed his robed body full length to his side. The stiff hairs of Spock's brow prickled Kirk's lips as he kissed Spock's forehead. 

Kirk unpressed his lips from Spock's smooth forehead long enough to say, "Let me know if I'm taking too much care of you. I don't want to do that."

"I will."

Kirk's voice grew thick. "You can be so much. I want to be for you exactly what you need."

Spock's arm came around Kirk's abdomen under the covers, gripped his hip bone. "You are that, James."

Kirk closed his eyes, turned his head to rest against the side of Spock's. He was beginning to believe that guiding Spock was his most important duty. And he needed to remain worthy of him. He would not remain Spock's dream forever.


	33. Outfitted

Kirk stood in the window of his dorm room with Spock's padd in hand. Spock sat with his large, clunky padd out on the table. The edges were showing wear as if the inner workings had been opened and revealed several times.

"How were your classes today?" Kirk asked as he thumbed through the feeds.

"Pleasing." 

"Did you see Grange today? Explain that you are staying through the first term?"

"I did. He attempted to return to a strict and annoyed mode of interaction."

Kirk grinned. "I think you got under his skin. And I think he's not the type to have any defense against that."

"I did not do so intentionally."

"Wouldn't have worked if you had." Kirk spoke without looking up. "What are you working on with such concentration?"

"I have a ship design assignment, to model and simulate a starship from scratch. The draft is due for evaluation tomorrow."

"What ship class?"

"The assignment is open ended."

Kirk made a noise through his nose. "That's not an easy assignment."

"The modeling software greatly automates the first version of the layouts. But rather than create a new superstructure, I am attempting to make the Dionysus Class a more manageable ship through simplification of its physical plant."

Kirk raised his head. "You realize that simplification is the hardest possible thing to accomplish?"

"As I have learned in the last three days, yes."

"A worthy goal, however," Kirk said. 

Kirk's messages flashed. Admiral Coyran's AI was posting notices of his hearing that Friday. Kirk forwarded them to his lawyer, just in case. She replied immediately, in person, he was certain. She stated that he better look like he was in uniform for the panel even if he wasn't allowed to wear his actual one. And to come in the next afternoon for a meeting.

Kirk breathed in slowly with the intent to sound calm, but air had opened beneath his feet, the weightless teetering that always accompanied a potential diversion of major events. "My hearing's on Friday."

Spock stood up. Kirk wished he hadn't done that. 

"Oh seven hundred," Kirk said. "I need to look more professional, according to my lawyer, so I better go to a tailor." Sweat prickled along his sides at the thought of more debt.

"James."

Kirk hesitated looking up. He read the messages again.

"Yes?"

"Will you allow me to purchase you an appropriate outfit?"

Kirk felt hot on the inside. His pride burning him up.

Spock sounded strained. "It is my family's fault that you are in this position." He set his face. "You do us honor allowing us to assist."

Kirk dropped the padd on the window bench cushion, stared at it. "I actually don't have a choice." The burn didn't ease. "I prefer to rely on me. No matter whose fault may or may not be involved."

"I know."

"Sorry," Kirk said. "I'm making this hard for you and there is no reason for you to suffer it." He smiled weakly, looked forward. "Want to go out. Window shop?"

"Yes, I would."

Kirk gestured at the door. "It's all or nothing time. I can't turn down any assistance."

Spock turned around at the door without triggering it. Kirk stopped close enough to feel Spock's robes brushing his shin.

"I have stated before, but I will risk repeating it. What is mine is yours."

"Thank you, Spock."

They took a groundcab to the interconnected, glittering, shopping towers of Foster City. Kirk gravitated to the back walkways along the waterways, away from the brighter lights. They found a quiet shop with an automated tailor. Kirk turned, lifted his arms to be measured then described the tailor's AI what image he needed to convey while wearing the outfit.

The prices made Kirk's chest tight. But even he could see the difference in impression left by an outfit simulated by a luxury fashion AI verses a budget one.

"Shaw said get an outfit that looks like a uniform. So something like this or this." Kirk put his hand down, away from the buy button. "These prices, though."

"I can tell they upset you. Your skin has become agitated."

Kirk crooked a brow. "This a new sense of yours?"

"Yes. Zienn has it as well."

"It makes you a kind of living truthteller. That will be useful for you in the future."

"Perhaps. It is just a focused heightening of the usual Vulcan nervous system sensitivity."

"Oh, is that all," Kirk said with a small smile.

Spock pointed to an outfit that with the addition of braid could pass as a private ship captain's uniform for a wealthy mogul. "I prefer this one." 

"I think it's reaching a bit." Kirk requested it be modified, made less stiff. "That's a little better. But honestly I've stared at too many."

"Shall I get a second opinion?" 

"Your mother?"

"I have a female classmate who is quite fashion conscious."

"Sure, ask her between these three. If you don't think she'll mind."

Spock took out his Academy padd and scanned the outfit's codes into it. "She will be overjoyed to be asked. She is rather adoring of you."

Kirk grinned. "That bother you?"

Spock lowered the padd. "Not in the least. It is logical to be." His padd flashed. "She prefers the first one. Says that rigid is in, so the more casual one will appear additionally more so."

"I'll trust the two of you. I'd like to quit now." Kirk pressed the buy button without looking at the price again. Spock had already put his credit chit in the unit. "Sorry about the expense. But it looks worth it."

Spock retrieved his chit. "My formal Vulcan robes are woven from the fibrous stems and wool of a flower that only grows at one altitude in the far northern provinces."

"Why not just grow them synthetically?"

Spock raised a brow and gave him a withering look.

Kirk laughed, then sighed. "You do make me feel better. Thank you."

\-------- 8888 -------

Spock walked into the Academy Annex auditorium. He was mostly ignored now by the officers. But he did not make it past Captain Chanel, who had arrived early.

"Cadet." She snapped her fingers twice as if he had not stopped and turned.

Spock was still on the bottom floor of the auditorium, so he did not approach closer. There were five other students around the front table. When he had reported to her on Friday about Kirk's requesting a hearing she had remained skeptical but had let him go onto his next class before he was late.

"I see this morning that I've been ordered to a Review Panel," Chanel said.

Curious gazes turned Spock's way.

"Yes, Captain."

She smiled. "Good job."

Spock kept his head up. "I remain certain it was not my doing, sir."

"Take some credit, Cadet."

"Yes, sir."

She turned back to the now mystified faces. Spock decided she was finished with him and went up to his usual seat in the back row. The room filled and quieted. 

"Lucky we don't have a plank anymore," Chanel said to a lieutenant to strode in late. "Be late again and I'll make one, personally."

The students smiled, the latecomer flushed.

Chanel said, "In a leaky airlock."

Chanel flipped through the submitted student assignments on the screen at the front.

"I have you an absurd task for four days, but sometimes more time doesn't equal more progress, just more wheel spinning, since we haven't covered techniques for evaluating tradeoffs." She flipped through submitted designs, stopped at a spherical ship with warp nacelles top and bottom. "This is Ensign Morro's submission. She's into retro, I think. Nothing wrong with that. Might have to issue whiskey rations to the crew to deal with the hit to their pride, however."

The class chuckled. Spock sat back. He had not considered that criteria. He pulled out his padd and considered how he might add that to his master index of engineering implementations.

Spock half listened to the advantages of spherical designs, material efficiency being the primary one. Early shield technology had developed to cover planes which made a sphere more difficult to protect, although that was changing. Chanel pulled up another example, three nacelles with no main hull, just wide interconnects for living space. 

Most students had taken the opportunity to re-envision from scratch. Spock found the tri-nacelle appealing for its nod to raw power at the expense of livability. Chanel pointed out that the warp field would form a toroid and collapse given the engine spacing. The lieutenant who designed it put his head down on his arms in embarrassment.

Chanel reviewed three more designs, and unlike her reviews of actual ships, kept her criticisms light-hearted. 

"And this might look very familiar," Chanel said. "Dionysus Class."

More smiles, some sidelong glances at possible culprits. It was Spock's design.

"This might look familiar," Chanel said, "but it's been gutted and redone." The model skin became transparent, showing the superstructure and living space fittings. Spock had not been able to solve five difficult engineering problems regarding warp engine cooling, life support air movement, power distribution shielding, and general storage. Those items were still flashing in various colors.

"This student took an existing design and tried to optimize it," Chanel said.

"That's boring," someone said.

"Depends on what interests you, Ensign."

Chanel slid through the model, turning various system simulations on and off. Most of the completed systems were flagged as exceeding spec, even under various loads. Spock hoped so. He had over-designed everything. 

"It left the student more time to work on the life blood of the ship." Chanel flipped through the draft systems, as if looking for something red-lined. There were two yellows, but no reds. She turned the simulations off, slid past the engineering bay again. "Rather brutal simplifications here. Not sure those are workable. Maybe we'll come back to these designs, make you run long-term habitation simulations, then cost and time estimates." She switched back to the isometric view of what appeared to be a pristine USS Ranger. "If I were building any of what was submitted, it would be this one." She switched off the display.

"Whose was that?"

"That's Cadet Spock's submission."

Spock felt the other two cadets in his row turn his way. He ignored them.

One said, "Explains why it's boring."

"No imagination. That's what I've heard."

\-------- 8888 -------

Kirk was shown into the same conference room at the lawyer's office. A minute later Areel Shaw came in, dropped her delicate narrow padd on the desk and sat hard in a chair.

"Sorry," Kirk said. "Looks like you've had a long day already."

"You drinking this coffee?" Areel asked.

"Probably not."

She pulled it to her and took a gulp of it, then straightened her padd before her and flipped through screen after screen. "Give me a few minutes."

"Of course." 

Given the late, open-ended appointments, Kirk suspected he was getting special treatment.

"You get something to wear?" she asked.

"I did."

She paused in her tapping. "Well, your theory that Admiral Coyran wants you back is supported by his accepting Captain Yung of the USS Sanchez as your third selection. The blatant bias of your rescue of him should have sunk his selection."

"Captain Chanel is arguably more biased," Kirk said.

"You ever sleep with her?"

Kirk crossed his arms and sat back. "No. When I was at the Academy I never seemed to have her attention. Although she did more recently ask Spock if I was available. Since we have full disclosure."

"Possibly more biased. For or against. But given her urging to you to call a panel, we'll assume on the side of For. And Vice Admiral Hollingsworth. Know anything about her? She comes out of Sciences. I've never had her on a panel. You haven't slept with her, have you?"

Kirk tried to appear innocent. "Funny that you didn't ask if I slept with Captain Yung."

"All right, I'm asking now."

"No. To both."

"And Captain Sulu rounds out the panel."

"Oh?"

"Don't sound so positive. He's the toughest member I've ever encountered. Stickler for details and making sure everything's been covered. Can't slip anything past him."

"My interactions with him have been positive."

"I saw that in your logs. With his type, which is the overly sensitive to bias type, that actually makes it worse."

"It wasn't a lot of interaction."

"Good." She sat back, tapped her stylus on the tabletop. "Our strategy is going to be: keep it narrow and straightforward. You were relieved of duty because of a meld and only a meld. We will present evidence showing you were never intended to be a tool of this rogue Vulcan like Admiral Pritchard and Captain Garrovick, that in fact your attacker planned to kill you soon after and had no reason to make you a slave." She looked up at him. "All right so far?"

Kirk remembered standing outside Med, panicking to his core at the notion that Sybok was dead. He would have begged for relief from him had the option been available. But it hadn't and he'd collapsed within hours. Kirk smiled faintly. "I'm fine."

"I plan to have three witness present and two others on call. Inside the hearing room we have to stick with those already aware of the actual events to avoid requesting unnecessary clearances. That will put your panel in a better mood given the sensitivity of events. So we are going to have present Commander Iona of Starfleet Security, H. Loomis of Starfleet Intelligence--"

"Do you happen to know his first name?"

"He's probably not even Loomis."

"Right."

"And the high priest who healed you, Zienn."

"Those three. Not Sarek?"

"Normally I might have everyone there. But I want to avoid having an array of Vulcans behind us in the room. Sorry if that sounds horribly cynical, but we have to be careful. We'll have Spock waiting outside the hearing room as it is likely they'll have questions for him."

"How likely is it the panel's questions will skirt areas dangerous to Spock's standing?"

"Pretty likely. He suffered a similar attack which has been glossed over. He's ex-Militant . . ."

Kirk looked down at the table, bit his lips.

"Are you willing to sacrifice your career just on the off chance something might come up regarding him, and might be referred for further inquiry?"

Kirk's chest felt tight. "Tempting."

"You should decide now."

"He's very important to me."

"Obviously."

Kirk looked away, looked around the bare conference room. He felt a pit opening under his heart. "Spock would never forgive me for backing down."

"He's not my client. You are." She grew more attractive as she grew forceful. "I can't promise much in the way of dividing my loyalty to cover him. My loyalty in this is entirely to you."

"I know that. But I don't want your loyalty if that's the cost of it."

She dropped the stylus and sat back. It dragged along the table from the leash on her bracelet.

"If you want me to steer the panel in ways that protect him at your expense . . . I can only do that to a very small degree, Mr. Kirk. This panel is either going to go smoothly, or it's going to go to hell. Either I can shut down concerns quickly, or they will sink us." She paused. "You are an asset to Starfleet--"

"Spock is far more of one."

She frowned. "He's barely started at the Academy and you're a highly decorated lieutenant commander."

"No. He's the future of Starfleet. I'm an escapee from the farm who doesn't value his own life much." Kirk spread his hands on the tabletop. "I want you to protect him as much as possible. I understand you have an ethical code. But think about it. Sarek is also your client. That's why you took my case. Make Spock your client too. Please."

"But I hate losing." She smiled after a pause.

"So do I. I define success as Spock being protected from my attempts to get my stripes back."

She sighed, stared at the table beside her padd. "I have interviews with your witnesses tomorrow and the day after. I'll see where we are at that time."

"Did you warn the panel that they'll need a live translator?"

"Why?"

"High Priest Zienn rejects all technology for communication."

She made a note. "Anything else I should know?"

"Since you asked . . . and I like you . . . he's a non-touch telepath. A very good one."

She picked up her stylus, stashed it in her sleeve, then yanked it out again with a flick of her wrist. "You're smiling. That doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the least. Sort of freeing, actually. We humans spend way too much energy putting on a show for no good reason."

She rubbed her chin. "I'll have to disclose that and sequester him for the panel in his own box."

"So you can't use him to assist."

"To make it clear it was impossible to." She sat forward. "So, in summary, you want me to throw this hearing if necessary to protect your lover and your prime witness is a skilled telepath who is going to make the panel very nervous. Any other surprises lurking?"

"Not that I can think of right now."

"I'm holding you to that. I'm double my limit."

\-------- 8888 -------

Spock stepped onto the deep green grass of the park two blocks from the Academy. It was sunny, glaring like the Vulcan desert off the shining buildings. When he'd messaged Commander Overlander about doing a project on the Apollo, she'd replied that she wanted to speak with him and asked what time could they have lunch.

He found Overlander accepting a cylindrical container from a Pad Thai food truck that emitted an overwhelming fish stench overlaid by a woody peanut scent.

"Hello, Cadet. This is my favorite truck. He can make you vegetarian if you like."

"It smells of the ocean. Strongly."

"Fish sauce." She stood on her toes to talk into the high window. "Hey, Pablo, you can make noodles without fish sauce right, strict vegetarian? Give me another order." She tilted her head toward the truck. "He'll take care of you."

Spock accepted the lunch, which weighed more than the food he would eat in two entire days.

"I want to talk in private," Overlander said. "Let's hit the shade."

She sat crosslegged on the grass, uncaring of her uniform which was relatively clean at this point in the day.

"But, first, what's this class project?" she asked between slurping bites. 

"For Captain Chanel's ship design course I am required to do a design related assessment, onboard if possible. I wished to enquire if I could do my assignment aboard the Apollo while it is in dock."

Overlander rocked back. "Well. I'd say yes without hesitation. But to keep the peace, I have to take stock of Chief Ping's feelings on the matter."

"He has in the past clearly stated his displeasure with me."

She talked around a mouthful of noodles. "You really wrote that virus?"

"The first version. Not the version you are struggling with."

"Where'd this version come from?"

"James believes it was leaked from Starfleet's computer core."

"Leaked intentionally or accidentally?"

"If I am required to answer, sir, I assume you will keep this confidential?" 

She ate a bite, brows low. "You can."

"James believes the computer core was the source of the bad orders and the false evidence planted implicating Admiral Coyran in said orders."

"Okay. This gets too deep too fast." She shook her head while pushing noodles around. Shook her head some more. "Let me talk to Ping. He has to oversee you, so even if I order him to allow you to hang around, he can make your life miserable."

"I can render myself immune to such difficulty, Commander."

She smiled. "That I'd like to see. He can be pretty harsh and is used to throwing it around to get his way. I'll see what I can do. Any idea what kind of project?"

"No, sir."

"Well, that's in your favor. Ping may have something he wants studied. Hey, Chief, any projects you'd like done?" She grinned. "I have just the person."

She resealed her lunch and set it aside, wiped up repeatedly. She mostly smelled of tomatoes and peanut now, the same as Spock's noodles. He took the opportunity to close his as well.

She leaned closer. "Question for you. And drop rank, please. And feel free to tell me to flip off for asking this." She exhaled, contemplated the grass between them. "Vulcan high priests . . . Yeah, probably stupid to ask this, but the computer knew nothing regarding it. Are they . . . celibate?"

"I am not certain what your question pertains to exactly."

She rolled her eyes. "You sound JUST like my computer terminal. How should I ask this?"

"I apologize, Comm-"

"No rank," she snapped.

Spock sat straighter. "May I rephrase your question for you? You are wondering what the likelihood is of Zienn engaging in sexual activity."

"Yes." She almost touched his arm. "Exactly. Thank you."

"The answer is it is entirely up to him. Some temples have behavior codes, but I believe they only apply to activities within the temple. The is especially true at Kipraro where Zienn has residence. He is there because he was invited and has been allowed to remain. What he does beyond its walls is no one's concern. They only care that he is not disruptive when he is present. As to Vulcan biology, I must confess to surprising ignorance bred by our cultural aversion to this topic. I must guess, so please note that."

"You are so the perfect person to talk to. Am I making you uneasy?"

"Very much so. But I am disappointed in said reaction and am using this opportunity to adjust. I wish to live among humans, who have a different set of hang-ups."

She snorted. "Hang-ups. Yes. No shortage of those. I understand your problem."

"In general, once one attains a priest level of seven or eight, one can overcome the compulsory breeding instinct through full control of one's biology. So, as to your question, celibacy would be considered a side benefit of attainment, not an oppressive rule."

She rocked back. "Oh." She plucked at the grass, tossed it. "You know him pretty well, right? What do you think the odds are he'd be interested? All these other facts and guesses aside."

"I've melded with him for many hours, but I do not have an answer for you. His skills far exceed mine and he reveals very little to me. You will have to ask him."

She laughed. "Right. Just ask him." She shook her head and laughed more. "He's sees right through me. All the time. He has to know, right?" Her face grew reddened.

"I would assume. He is apparently not offended."

"He's disinterested is what he is. That goes along with the benefits of attainment or whatever you called it. Just another of the, I'm sure, many silly human things I do." She sighed and pushed to her feet, stooped to pick up the remains of her lunch. "Well, don't have much to lose by trying." She looked at him. "Thank you, Spock. I suppose being a hybrid you end up an ambassador."

Spock paused. "I had not considered it in that way."

"That's because you're humble as hell. Oh, speaking of which. Do you have any test or assignment scores I can show Ping from your first month?"

"Yes, I will forward you my assessments to date."

"Are they good?"

"I do not know."

"Humble as hell. Well, send them. I'll get back to you this evening, okay?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Well, all right. Back to rank." Her lips crooked. "I started that, didn't I? Accused you of being out of uniform."

Spock put his hands behind his back. "You do outrank me rather significantly."

"Everyone does. I don't envy you that."


	34. Review, Part 1

Kirk strode with firm confidence into the hearing room. Areel Shaw had stepped aside before the doorway to let him lead the way. The panel of five sat behind a high table on a raised platform, high enough to feel intimidating from the counsel table facing it just in front of the general seating, which was empty. The panel members wore hard but interested expressions. Captain Yung looked far less haggard, almost softened. Captain Chanel's makeup was as thorough as any other occasion. She wore a diaphanous gold scarf around her neck, clasped with a glittering 'Fleet insignia. Vice Admiral Hollingsworth was a stout woman with a no-nonsense lantern jaw. Captain Sulu, of the set, appeared the most sympathetic and concerned.

The room had dark wooden wainscoting fitted on the diagonal, with the same textured alloy used to make ship interiors covering the walls above. Kirk remained standing beside his seat as the others filed in, Zienn last. Areel led the Vulcan to a broad seat along the side wall surrounded by a bulky wooden rail. Zienn sat perfectly straight with natural ease, hands at his sides. If he was uncomfortable being in a new place, Kirk couldn't discern it.

Kirk sat after Areel did, trying to look as naturally rigid as Zienn, trying not to appear to blatantly evaluate the panel's mood a second time. He instead watched Areel surreptitiously scanning the panelists from under her pale brown lashes as she fussily arranged her padd and soft leather case on the table. Commodore Stone in the center seat raised the gavel and struck open the session. 

"This panel has been convened to determine whether to reinstate the commission of one James Tiberius Kirk of earth who previously held the rank of lieutenant commander. Before we proceed, are there any concerns, Counselor, about the composition of the panel or its submitted evidence or its procedures? Because of the secrecy and clearances required, appeals will be limited. If you have concerns, I suggest we resolve them now."

"No. Commodore." Areel said. "Mr. Kirk is satisfied. Thank you."

Kirk remained seated while the timeline and the facts were summarized. The events felt far longer ago than the stardate indicated they were. Kirk imagined conducting helm drill procedures to keep himself out of the past.

Stone's gravelly voice warmed as he talked. "The panel has been provided with the reports and recordings of the events of Stardate forty twenty seven point two and those have been attached to the official record of this proceeding. Does the panel wish to review any of that evidence at this time?" Stone glanced to each side of him and received no affirmatives. "In that case, Counselor, you may proceed."

Areel stepped forward. "I will be demonstrating for this panel that Mr. Kirk has recovered from the injuries he sustained on the aforementioned date and that he is fit to return to duty at his previous rank. I have three witnesses to call, and I have two other involved parties cleared and on standby should the panel wish to question them."

She first called Commander Iona of Starfleet Security who crisply identified himself and unhesitantly placed his hand on the truthteller. He reviewed the decisions behind the mission plan to entrap Sybok, including the necessity to keep Kirk ignorant of the mission. He sounded highly competent, decisive, and convincing, so much so that Kirk found the residual offense from those events easing within himself.

Areel next called Loomis to the seat before the panelists' platform. Kirk felt his heart speeding up. He had opened himself up to this man with little reserve. The truthteller's light came up through Loomis's spread hand, glowing pink through the skin around his lean fingers.

Areel sounded friendly as she spoke. "Mr. Loomis, you have worked for Intelligence in the Psych Department for nine years, but you come from a traditional background in behavioral therapy, correct?"

"Yes."

"So, while you were ordered to complete an A-3 on Mr. Kirk, you are also qualified to comment on his general psychological health."

"Yes, I believe I am."

"You saw Mr. Kirk at his worst after the attack, and again after he was healed by the Vulcan High Priest, so you are the best possible judge of his change in psychological health, correct?"

"It would be difficult to imagine that there would be someone in a better position."

"Please answer yes or no."

"Yes."

"We have your notes and the recording from the A-3, but would you summarize for the panel Mr. Kirk's state of mind when he was sent to you after the attack."

"Of course. The being I evaluated on stardate four oh forty one point two seven had been wired by a telepath to experience constant, excessive fear. I could discern that he was usually a man of action and his inability to make a change in his state was a source of distress for him on top of the fear itself. But despite these personal stresses his main focus of concern was his injured crew, particularly his first officer, whom he felt responsible for. To me, this speaks of strong innate positive character. Fearful beings are generally less altruistic, if not unduly aggressive. Mr. Kirk refused to let his greatly limiting injuries and frustration interfere with what what he saw as his solemn duty. One could not concoct a better test of deep space command fitness than such a circumstance."

Areel paced a few steps before the counsel table. "At that first evaluation, did you see him as a danger of any kind?"

"Only to himself in that he refused to accept treatment."

"You did see him as a danger to Starfleet or any member of Starfleet?"

"No. Not in any form. He did not even harbor any ill will over being ordered to be evaluated. Even after I clarified that it was an interrogation."

"Mr. Kirk returned to you last week. Please summarize his state at that time."

"He was well-adjusted, humorous, easy-going, self depreciating, likable, charming."

Areel turned to him. "That is your official psychological assessment of Mr. Kirk?"

"Yes. In summary, he was perfectly normal, where the norm for Mr. Kirk is a better than average personality profile. I had stayed late and set aside time for a therapy session, which Mr. Kirk did not require any more than any well-adjusted being off the street would."

Captain Chanel said, "That second session recording was not released to the panel."

"I didn't make one, nor did I have the right to. It was a private session."

"So we will have to trust your assessment, such as it is," Hollingsworth said.

"Per Mr. Kirk's request, I logged a detailed professional account of his state immediately after seeing him, which has been provided to the panel. My professional opinion remains that Mr. Kirk is fully recovered from the injuries he received at the hands of the Vulcan Sybok. He harbors no other psychological issues. I have no hesitation recommending his reinstatement. Admittedly, I had not met him before his injury, but have difficulty imagining he was psychologically better put together than he is now. That would be extraordinary."

Hollingsworth said, "Mr. Kirk will you give Mr. Loomis permission to discuss your second session with the panel?"

Kirk adjusted his position on the hard chair. "During the session I described for Loomis my experience of being healed, which I give him permission to discuss." Kirk's arms felt unnaturally heavy in his lap. "The rest is private. But he has my permission to discuss it in generalities."

"What did Mr. Kirk say about his healing to you, Mr. Loomis?" Hollingsworth asked.

"He stated that the fear had made it extremely difficult to accept assistance, especially since the best qualified assistance was a Vulcan. But that he had managed to cooperate with a healer due to the skills of the healer and the ambassador who also provided him with help. Mr. Kirk stated that he thought the entire experience had made him better than he was before. He better understood needing to struggle with oneself, to have patience with oneself and to understand how those under his command might be struggling when they look protectively inward too much rather than to the future."

"Things come too easy to you before now, Mr. Kirk?" Captain Sulu asked.

"I wouldn't have said so, sir," Kirk said, pouring a bit of charm into his answer.

The panel's expressions relaxed.

"In general, Mr. Loomis, what else did you discuss in the second evaluation?" Hollingsworth asked.

"Mr. Kirk's relationship. A rather ordinary discussion about the meaning and purpose of commitment."

"Mr. Loomis, you have a complaint in process regarding the A-3 you were assigned to perform on Mr. Kirk," Captain Sulu said. "Do you think that is biasing you?"

"No." Loomis centered his hand on the truthteller. "If I believed Mr. Kirk not fit for duty I would freely tell you so. It would do him no favor to be put back in the field if he weren't ready for it and it would be a violation of my own oath to provide Starfleet with my best opinion in matters like this. I wouldn't send an unprepared person to the field that I disliked, let alone someone I liked or, possibly in this case, felt guilty about." The truthteller continued to pulse normally. "I filed a complaint because I was ordered to interrogate someone with an externally inflicted psychic injury and I don't feel that is an appropriate way of handling such a case."

Chanel said, "You realize that was done as a favor to Mr. Kirk. The alternative was detention."

The others on the panel turned her way. 

"I understand that. It isn't my place to weigh those priorities or favors for another. My role is to assess and exploit someone's psychology. But there have been a handful of times I questioned the necessity or morality of a particular case. We cannot usually discuss what we do, and that can lead to exploitation of our department. I want to preserve the usefulness and effectiveness of my role by ensuring it does not constitute abusive. That was the reason for my formal complaint."

"What is the status of said complaint?" Sulu asked Stone.

"I don't have anything on that."

"If I may." Kirk sat forward. "According to Admiral Coyran's office the followup was ongoing as of last week."

"You discussed the HR complaint with Admiral Coyran?" This was Stone, sounding disbelieving.

"Yes, sir."

"What did you say, exactly?"

"I apologized for triggering the review. I understand they were desperate, and I appreciated not being detained at that time. I had no difficulty being ordered to prove I was no risk. And, frankly, I appreciated having someone to talk to freely about what had happened. At that time, I was quite isolated."

Stone stretched his shoulders back. "Noted. Counsel, anything else for this witness? Panel?"

Zienn was called up to the front seat before the panel table and a middle-aged earth woman with a high forehead and long black hair came in to translate. Zienn placed his hands delicately in his lap and sat unmoving.

Stone peered down at Zienn. "I've been told you are certainly capable of fooling our truthtelling device and in addition to that have an objection to technology for communication. So we will dispense with the requirement of it."

Everyone waited while the translator rendered this into Vulcan. Zienn nodded. The panel shifted in their seats. Even though he'd been sitting there all along, Kirk imagined they were just now thinking about his telepathic skills.

"You were brought in to heal Mr. Kirk?"

Zienn replied, "Yes," before the translator could finish.

"You have to wait for the translation. Please," Stone said. "We don't want to risk any misunderstandings."

Zienn nodded and when the translator finished, replied in Vulcan. "I will do so."

"We have the description you provided to Counsel of the meld you performed on Mr. Kirk. You had never melded with a human before?"

Zienn waited for the translator. 

"No."

"Not a little risky?" Captain Yung asked.

"I did not intend to use a healing technique on him. Not unless I felt capable of avoiding all harm. I melded with James initially to calm his terrors, which had overwhelmed him, and rendered him senseless. Once the meld was established, it appeared easy to repair him, so I did. I allowed him to guide me on the details. He is rather adept and practiced at self-assessment. Something I had not suspected of humans before observing it first hand. That is, given reports I had of humans. I had not met one before."

Kirk watched Areel flicking her digital pen around inside her sleeve beside him.

Stone said, "We on the panel need to clarify what your professional skills actually are. I did a bit of reading this week about Vulcan High Priests. Counsel provided us with an overview, but it seemed incomplete. You were a general Mind Healer for a short time before entering a cloistered temple, correct?"

"Yes."

"I see that Vulcan priests have levels. And a level three," Stone squinted at the electronic paper he held up. " . . . can guide souls to the afterlife, is that correct?"

"That is the criteria commonly used for level three. At this point in our traditions, below level three is not designated high priest."

"Have you guided souls, Mr. Zienn?" Commodore Stone asked.

"Yes. But that is no longer my duty. I only did so during that portion of my training, about a year long."

"I see." Stone breathed in and out, looked down at his padd with a slightly disturbed expression. "Level five can involve complete removal of emotion, extreme physical feats of survival. And level seven, the highest the computer had data about, involves some kind of test of a Star State, where one can see within the energies of the universe. At least that's the odd translation of it the computer provided me." He looked up at Zienn as if for help.

"Star State is a meditative posture considered deep enough one has closed off all input from one's self and the immediate physical world. Whether one can sense other energy sources such as the shifting of the galactic order, or possibly contacting a universal consciousness depends upon the individual."

"Can you do so?"

Zienn sounded put upon. "Of course."

Kirk tried not to smile.

"What level are you, Mr. Zienn?" Stone asked. "I didn't see it on the file created for this review."

"Levels are irrelevant to my current residency. But if I were to move, I would be considered level eleven."

"Eleven."

Zienn tilted his head.

Stone put down his electronic paper. 

Captain Sulu leaned forward. "It seems strange for someone of your ilk to be brought in for such a healing. Isn't it?"

"I did it as a favor to a friend." Zienn used the Standard word.

"And that friend would be?" Sulu asked.

"Spock, son of Sarek of Shikahr."

Sulu said, "He was also attacked. Did you also heal him?"

"Yes. Spock was trivial to set to right. He could defend himself and was only minorly disturbed."

"And you believe Mr. Kirk fully healed at this time?" Hollingsworth asked.

"Yes."

"You aren't a particularly good judge of humans, though. He was the first one you met."

"I have added to my observations of humans since then and have not altered my assessment in light of that new knowledge."

"Have you melded with him since?"

"No. He did not desire more help. He wished to heavily rely on himself. But I read his mind often and have seen nothing of concern in his thoughts. Only the usual struggles of a thinking being."

Half the panel shifted in their seats again.

"Mr. Kirk didn't mind that?" Yung asked.

Kirk let the translator translate. Let Zienn answer. 

"Mr. Kirk is aware of how I communicate and does not register any distaste of it. He is relaxed into the notion that he has an ordinary mind and nothing to hide."

And it's convenient, Kirk thought to himself, maybe projected just a tad.

"And it is convenient," Zienn said, in Standard, as if by rote.

Areel's pen flicked around faster, circling her ring finger, chain chiming faintly as it jostled.

Stone swallowed hard. "Counsel, anything more for this witness? Panel?"

Heads shook, gazed fixed elsewhere.

Kirk took the seat front and center, openly scanned each face briefly. Placed his hand on the truthteller.


	35. Review, Part 2

"How are you feeling Mr. Kirk?" Commodore Stone asked.

"Very good, sir."

Stone clasped his hands together before him on the high table, elbows out. 

"You accept the reasons why your commission was revoked, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"You have an illustrious, but highly mixed, record. If you are deemed fit to be returned to space service with Starfleet, I'll be interested to see how you make out over the next few years. If you aren't, I do hope you will find something applicable to your skills and spirit." Stone appeared to nod to himself rather than say more, raised his gaze to Areel. "Counselor, please proceed."

Areel came forward, looked at the floor as she talked. "You were aware, were you not, Mr. Kirk, that Sybok was influencing Starfleet's highest commanders?"

"I had no proof, but it fit what I'd observed."

"You didn't inform anyone."

"Only the Vulcan ambassador to the Federation. He and I tried to interact with as many admirals and vice admirals and command staff as we possibly could. After returning from the battle with the Himalaya and the Sanchez, it was easy for me to get invitations to all kinds of dinners and receptions. But I didn't know whom to trust, so I did not inform anyone else of my suspicions. The highest ranking commander I had the most faith in, Admiral Coyran, was under house arrest."

"Nevertheless, you went and spoke with him."

"I did. But I didn't tell him my suspicions. I needed something concrete before doing so. It was just a wild idea at that point, that happened to fit the facts. I didn't want to be discounted before I had proof."

"You were busy with helping earth celebrate the end of the war. You had no suspicion beforehand that Starfleet Security was planning a mission to gather intelligence and/or capture the Vulcan Sybok?"

"No." Kirk thought, except for that unexplained shift in Spock's behavior that had failed to tip him off. But he didn't want to mention Spock at all.

Areel said, "I'll remind the panel that Commander Iona also felt he could not go outside his department for support with that mission. Like Mr. Kirk, he was hampered by concerns of revealing his suspicions to a compromised commanding officer." 

She paced before Kirk's seat. 

"When you were psychically attacked by Sybok, Mr. Kirk, did you get a sense that you were being groomed for the future?"

Kirk shook his head. Then remembered to speak aloud. "No. It was just panic and pain and crippling fear."

"And soon after, your attacker tried to coerce another to kill you, correct?"

"Yes."

"You fully believe Sybok intended to kill you?"

"Yes."

"When you killed him instead, did you feel any kind of release in your mind, as if you'd been freed from something?"

This question hadn't been covered in any pre-briefing at the law offices. Kirk shook his head after remembering that moment in too much detail. "No."

"When you were assisting Commander Graham with disabling the Potemkin just hours later, did you feel any resistance or hesitation in your mind regarding what you were trying to accomplish, the defense of Vulcan?"

"No. I was just horribly fearful. Every possibility seemed cripplingly real as I considered each of them. The horror of the outcome of the Potemkin reaching Vulcan, for example, made it difficult to concentrate. In the heat of battle, I can usually put aside the emotion when weighing the outcomes of possible actions. I'd lost that ability. But there wasn't any hesitation or second thought about the overarching goal. I had to stop the Potemkin."

Areel paced. "So even in the hours after you were attacked by an assailant whose primary goal was the destruction of Vulcan, you were defending Vulcan."

Kirk was there again, estimating the damage to Vulcan from those high powered phaser banks, apologizing to Sarek for lacking ideas, hoping upon hope that something would change that he could take advantage of. 

"Yes."

"I submit to the panel that this proves that Mr. Kirk was not programmed like the others to Sybok's service. That he was mentally attacked only as a means of torture and had at that time, and still does, total free agency."

She turned back to Kirk. "Do you harbor any ill will from that injury, Mr Kirk?"

Kirk tipped his head back to look up at her. "Toward whom?"

"Vulcans?"

Kirk felt his expression change to one of confusion. "No." This was another question Areel had kept from the pre-briefing, as if to ensure his honest reaction to it.

"And you feel like yourself now?"

"Yes." 

The truthteller continued to pulse white.

"Your CANA assessment was comparable to that taken before you entered Starfleet Academy. No residual difficulties from what happened. At all?"

Again, Kirk was out on a limb. "I'm not sure what else I might do with myself if I don't have a future with this organization. That's my primary stress at this time."

"You believe you would be a better commander than you were, we have heard here."

"Maybe a little. I better understand lacking a purpose. I have a bit more patience."

"You weren't allowed to wear your medals today."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't feel the need anyway."

"No?"

"Better to not need to earn them in the first place."

"I see. Commodore, I'm finished for the time being, if the panel has any questions." She went back to the counsel table.

Kirk sat alone in the no man's land between the seating and the high table with the crest of Starfleet engraved on the face of it, nearly a meter in diameter, carved shallow, with crisp edges.

Stone said, "Anything you'd like to say to the panel, Mr. Kirk?"

Areel had prepared Kirk for this. "I know I can be a difficult person in the chain of command and my record clearly reflects that. The rigidity of the military isn't perhaps the best place for someone of my temperament. But the war is over. Starfleet is going to shift back to exploration and colonization of new worlds. I feel strongly that my purpose is here, that I can do the most good as part of Starfleet."

Stone appeared unmoved by this speech. He looked down the panel table one way, then the other. He spoke to the table surface before him. "I'll note that Admiral Coyran reviewed the panel's evidence package and recommends reinstatement. Does the panel have other issues to address with Mr. Kirk or any of the witnesses before we deliberate?"

There was a long pause. Captain Sulu leaned forward, sounded apologetic. "I do."

Kirk had steeled himself and did not react. His heart had leapt forward upon seeing what appeared to be a positive end in sight and now it floundered.

Stone sounded practiced neutral. "Proceed, Captain."

"I understand that it's been demonstrated to this panel that Mr. Kirk has been returned to his previous state of psychological health after a heinous and deeply personal attack. And I have no further questions regarding that issue. But I do have concerns about events that occurred before that." 

Captain Sulu looked up at Kirk with curiosity tainted by a disturbance in his brow. Commodore Stone continued staring over Kirk's head.

Sulu said, "Since this panel is considering Mr. Kirk's reinstatement to a modest level of authority, likely with command of a vessel, I want to ensure that his reinstatement is fully warranted." 

Kirk imagined Areel was flicking her pen around, but she was behind him at the counsel table.

Sulu glanced down at something before him. His mouth stretched thin. "There are several issues raised by the logs provided to the panel, but the one that causes me the most concern is Mr. Kirk's apparently intimate relations with an underaged Federation citizen."

Kirk better molded his hand to dome of the truthteller, calmed his heart rate by exhaling very slowly.

Sulu said, "I don't see mention of similar from your superiors in your record. In my experience, such behavior is a habit. Do you make it a habit, Mr. Kirk?"

"No, sir."

Kirk waited. Sulu seemed to expect him to say more.

"Your usual partners are . . .?"

"Generally older than myself, sir."

"Why the exception? Were you aware he was underage?"

"If I may," Areel said, stepping up beside Kirk. "The citizen in question has a status change with Starfleet regarding his majority status."

"With Starfleet only. And recently," Sulu said. "The Federation's rules were relevant at the time and therefore reflect upon Mr. Kirk's character. I understand he is an, at times, brilliant tactician, that he can inspire his crew in dire circumstances, but all of that is moot if he harbors such a character flaw."

"To answer your question," Kirk said. "I was not aware. He was nineteen when we met. In earth years. I did not consider that there could be fine print regarding adulthood for someone who was only half human but four or five times more intelligent than a human at the same age."

"You are going to take an ignorance of the law defense?" Hollingsworth asked.

Kirk bit his lips. "Not if I can help it. I was merely answering the question put to me, sir: I did not know."

"And once you knew." Sulu was losing his apologetic demeanor, going in for the strike. "Did you alter your behavior?"

"I intended to, Captain, but his father intervened. Filed the paperwork Ms. Shaw is referring to." Kirk was glad for the truthteller flashing his lack of deception. There was Spock's frantic reaction to the notion to take into account as well, but he kept that to himself. He still didn't fully understand it.

"Starfleet has a lot of rules, as you know, which you have a history of skirting as well," Sulu said.

Kirk held Sulu's gaze. "I understand that, sir."

"The citizen in question is available for questioning, correct? May we question him?" Sulu asked.

"Captain," Areel said. "Either said citizen is a minor and his opinion on the matter is of no consequence or he is of majority and there is no matter to begin with."

Sulu sat straighter. "I suppose counsel has a point. But I am still deeply bothered. There is rule breaking to accomplish things and there is rule breaking that reveals troublesome undercurrents. One should verify if one's partner is legal. Always. That onus is entirely on the adult. The minor, by definition is not responsible. That's why they are considered minors."

Kirk remembered all the times he'd told Spock he was too young, and resisted biting his lip.

"Did you not consider this person's well being?" Sulu asked Kirk.

Kirk sat forward in his chair. "I care for Spock a great deal." He breathed in and out. Stated the next slowly and clearly. "There is almost nothing, Captain, that I wouldn't do for him."

Areel held up a finger in Kirk's direction without lifting her arm. Kirk sat back again. 

Sulu paged through his notes. "May we interview his father? Is he available?"

Areel nodded slowly. "Yes. I'll have him brought in."

Areel went out of the room. Captain Sulu glanced down the table at the gazes facing forward with blank patience. He sat back, loosely crossed his arms.

Areel returned, escorting Sarek. He wore voluminous black robes, with stark, devolved lettering in steel grey down the front. He rode high as he entered, scanned the room twice over as he progressed. He stopped beside Kirk's seat and fixed his gaze on Commodore Stone.

"Ambassador," Stone said. "We appreciate your assistance. Captain Sulu has some questions for you as part of this panel's information gathering. We will dispense with the truthteller for your answers unless there is an objection."

Sarek turned his stern expression to Sulu.

"I'm concerned, Ambassador, that Mr. Kirk took sexual advantage of your minority son."

To the left of Sulu, Hollingsworth's eyes went wide. Kirk imagined she'd been drilled on what never to say to a Vulcan. Chanel appeared amused and hid it poorly.

"Such a topic is not discussed with outsiders by my people," Sarek said.

Sulu frowned. "All right. When you learned of your son's relationship with Mr. Kirk, did you approve of it?"

"I do not see how that is relevant," Sarek said.

"Should I take that as a no?" Sulu said.

Sarek spoke slowly. "You should take it as it is stated, as a failure to answer."

"The Vulcan definition of sexual majority is quite clearly laid out as part of Federation law, is there is some reason it does not apply to your son?"

Hollingsworth's fidget caught Sulu's attention. He turned to her sharply.

Sarek paused before replying. The room grew quieter. "I would not make such a bold assumption of applicability. Our people do things a certain way. With logic, less so with laws. What the Federation has is a codified version of something my people, and only certain families, use as a guideline." 

Sulu glanced down. "There are so many aspects of this I don't understand. Why was your son available to change partners? I'm familiar enough with your planet to know that is highly atypical."

Sarek turned to Kirk. "You warned me this could turn into an inquiry on my son and I did not believe you."

"This is not an inquiry into your son, Ambassador," Stone said.

Sarek shifted his hard glare that direction. Kirk stared at the emblem on the front of the desk. Sarek had just gotten exactly the assurance he'd most wanted, from the head of the panel.

Commodore Stone tipped his head a quarter turn down the table. "Captain Sulu. If you can make your questions more direct and on topic."

"I'm trying to establish if the ambassador considered his son fully able to make such a decision at the time his son made it. Otherwise, I feel obliged to assume his son was taken advantage of, worse yet, by the man responsible for his protection at the time."

"I did not--" Kirk found himself speaking without forethought. He put his hand on the truthteller. "I did not approach Spock while he was under my protection. Even if he had been fifty years old, Captain, I would not have done so."

Sulu nodded crookedly. "Noted. However, housing him in your personal quarters has to bring up predictable concerns."

"Ranger is a small ship. I was protecting him from security."

"You didn't have control of your own security section?" Yung asked.

Kirk felt his shoulders sink. "No, sir. I did not. I had to keep on officers who had engaged in abuse. I didn't have any choice given the mission. And I couldn't risk anything else happening because I honestly wasn't sure what my own reaction might be."

"Given your reaction the previous time." This was Stone.

"Yes, sir." Kirk nodded, kept his head down after. He was back in that moment, facing a crumpled Spock on the deck, his leering Security Chief. "I regret that. But I couldn't change it no matter how many times I went back and repeated it."

"If I may, Captain Sulu," Sarek said, voice richly rumbling. "The Federation rule on age of consent for hybrid beings is grossly unfair to my son. He may be as old as thirty seven when he does qualify under its criteria. He may, possibly, never qualify under it at all. One might argue that applying such a rule to him is a violation of his human rights given the lack of data about his biology."

"What would you apply instead?"

"Judgement. Logic."

"And under that, what do you think?"

"My son is an adult," Sarek said after a long pause, with odd modulation to his voice.

Kirk was glad he'd lifted his hand off the truthteller. His hands had begun sweating. Sarek did not entirely believe what he'd just asserted.

"My son is in an ongoing relationship with James Kirk that I do sanction at this time," Sarek said. "My son has lacked exposure to humanity before now. I previously believed that was best for his personal growth, to not be distracted from becoming fully Vulcan. But I have been led to reconsider this." 

He held out a hand to the side indicating Kirk while continuing to address the panel. "James Kirk is an exemplar of the positive potential of the human spirit. He is a blending of the rational and the creative that no Vulcan could attain. He is not afraid to feel compassion when it is warranted. He is not afraid of any of the softer emotions that humans, especially those who posture to strength, tend to eschew in the belief that it weakens them. He is so confident of his humanity that he instead sees strength in these emotions. Such a capacity to care along with high strategic intelligence would seem to me the perfect qualities for a commander in your organization."

Sarek put his hands together. "In answer to your earlier question, Captain, my judgement on the situation has evolved. I have unduly limited my son's experiences and I am grateful James Kirk is there to broaden my son's view of his heritage. I would not replace James with anyone, human or Vulcan." 

Kirk bit his lips, forced himself to release them.

"Captain Sulu," Stone said. "I think you will have to be satisfied with that answer for the purposes of this panel. If you wish to pursue this issue, perhaps it can be the focus of its own inquiry and we can dispense with it in this one."

Sulu put his arms up on the table and leaned toward Sarek. "Perhaps I can interview your son myself. Make my own determination as to his maturity. Would you allow that, Ambassador?"

Sarek stared at him. "I am quite certain, Captain, that your ranking above my son is to such a degree that you have allowance to interview him whenever you wish, as often as you wish. My son pledged himself to your organization and is fully at your discretion. Am I mistaken in this?"

Sulu sat in stillness. "No. You aren't mistaken."

Stone said, "Counsel, do you have any statements you'd like to make at this time?"

Areel came forward and Sarek stepped back. "The ambassador did an excellent job of summarizing. I'll just remind the panel that James Kirk was never at any time found to be a risk to Starfleet, and that he has had excellent care for his injuries and shows no sign of them at this time. He wishes to continue to serve, if Starfleet will have him."

She stepped back. Kirk heard her as if from a distance. Sarek's words were still ringing through him. 

"If there is nothing else . . . " Stone picked up the gavel. "We will adjourn to deliberate." He didn't wait more than a second before striking the gavel. "Counsel, please vacate with your party to the outer waiting room.

As they entered the waiting room, Spock stood up from the corner seat. He had worn his dress cadet uniform and was the only color in the room. He tracked Kirk closely but did not approach close.

"I think it went all right," Kirk said to him. 

Kirk turned to the others. Loomis was standing nearby, as if hoping for an introduction. Kirk addressed him, introduced Spock. Loomis studied Spock intently as he approached, nodded in greeting.

"You are in Intel," Spock said.

"He's okay, though," Kirk said.

Spock nodded. He was locked down so hard Kirk couldn't tell if he was nodding in acceptance or acknowledgement.

"Running into difficulty at the Academy for being the only Vulcan?" Loomis asked Spock.

"Only words. Nothing meaningful."

"Everyone gets picked on for something by the upperclassmen," Kirk said.

"I have observed that," Spock said.

"Well, you wear that uniform well," Loomis said. "That counts for something."

Spock looked down at himself. "I am still getting used to it. Robes are rather free flowing in comparison."

Kirk smiled. He'd not realized Spock was having an issue. Zienn glided over, stood beside Spock.

"You are doing all right?" Spock asked in Vulcan.

Zienn nodded, but it had a trace of fatigue to it.

Areel broke off from speaking with Sarek. 

"How'd it go, Counselor?" Kirk couldn't keep the charm bottled up while asking this.

"Not bad. But one never fully knows until the verdict is in."

Kirk turned to Spock, "Captain Sulu is likely going to call you in to talk to you. Maybe you can swing a tour of the Lexington out of it."

"For what purpose?"

"The tour or the talk?" Kirk smiled. "He wants to judge for himself if you're an adult."

Spock's brows went up. "I see."

"Just be yourself. It'll be fine."

Spock put his hands behind his back, shifted his feet to parade rest. Kirk held back on the affectionate smile straining at his lips. There were too many others around for it.

"I'm surprised counsel didn't ask the high priest for an opinion on that," Loomis said.

"She knew my answer," Zienn said in Standard.

"Ouch," Loomis said.

Kirk began sweating again. He had not heard this either. Areel had kept his prep rather strategically narrow.

Zienn spoke in Vulcan and Spock translated. "He says he cannot avoid taking a Vulcan view, which as a member of a race that regularly lives more than two hundred years, I am very young and hopefully still immature since immaturity leads to the most effective learning."

Kirk said to Zienn, "That's makes you pretty young as well at forty five or so."

Zienn nodded. "Yes. It does."

Thirty five minutes later, a staff member called them back in. Kirk and Areel follwed to the hearing room together. The silence made their footsteps loud.

Kirk trailed Areel through the hearing room door, adopted a posture of attention beside her before the front table. Stone looked soberly down at them. Everyone wore the same grimly serious face he did. Kirk paid undue attention to the way the solid floor pushed up against his boots, which in turn pushed up against his feet. 

Stone lightly tapped the gavel. "This panel has reviewed the facts and rendered a decision upon the matter of the summary removal of James T. Kirk's commission as lieutenant commander in Starfleet by Admiral Coyran. In view of Admiral Coyran's revision of that decision, and this panel's determination that the fallout from the incident that spurred Mr. Kirk's removal has been rectified, we recommend the reinstatement of said commission at Mr. Kirk's previous rank."

Kirk heard the next from behind his closed eyes. 

"Are there any questions, Counsel?"

Kirk had been determined to stand unmoving, no matter the outcome, but relief had swept away his will, left him bare. He opened his eyes again, found it hard to focus on any one thing in the room. He blinked, found Commodore Stone who had his wide gaze fixed on Areel.

"Any question, Mr. Kirk?" Areel asked.

Kirk replied to Stone. "No, sir. Thank you, sir."

Stone tapped the gavel again. "You may have to wait on paperwork for a few hours. Just so you know."

"Yes, sir."

The corridor was still quiet. Kirk took Areel's arm to hold her back from turning down toward the public areas.

"I need a moment," Kirk said. "To stop shaking."

Areel slid her arm around his waist in a chummy hug. 

"Thank you for everything," Kirk said. The world, even the barren corridor, had taken on new brightness. Beyond the bare walls was a different place.

"You may still be on the hook with Captain Sulu."

"One thing at a time." He winked at her.

"Let me know if you need my help. Check that. Call me, no matter what. We'll do dinner and talk about it."

Kirk grinned, felt it infect his whole body, hugged her harder and let go.

She said, "I have some ideas, if you'll accept a little more help from me."

"Of course."

"Now that I've gotten you to this point now you need to finish the job, clean up your reputation a bit. Give a talk or two, get unabashedly into the public eye and turn on that charm of yours."

"You think?"

"Yes. You were in the public eye a lot before. You need to define who you are now when news gets out you've been reinstated. Don't let others do it for you. You might not like who you see on the feeds if you do."

Kirk rocked his head. "I'll do that. You did do a lot of hard, and I think extra work, and I'd hate to waste it. And you're as good as Sarek promised you were."

"That didn't stop him from stepping in and stepping on my toes in there."

"He did a wonderful job of defending Spock without them taking offense at it."

"He's in a better position to do that. No one would fault him for it." She raised her chin. "You know that little speech was coming?"

"No. I've never heard anything like it from him. He had to cover. He's a terrible liar."

She flinched. "I really hope you and I were the only ones that caught that."

She strode away and Kirk followed.


	36. Sobering Up

The air drawing into Kirk's lungs felt too thin. He stepped inside the waiting room and looked around the curious and hopeful faces. Iona had departed, but everyone else was still present. Areel turned to Kirk and waited for him to speak.

"They reinstated me."

Spock approached without expression, nodded distractedly from behind tight controls.

Kirk turned to Sarek. "Thank you, Ambassador. And you Zienn. Especially you." He looked around the room. "I owe all of you a debt of gratitude, many times over."

When Kirk turned to scan the room a second time to acknowledge everyone, he found Loomis nearby, with his hand out. Kirk shook it. 

"If you have need of me. You know what department to call."

"Thanks, Doctor." Kirk's insides twisted as he spoke this. As skilled as Loomis was, as different as he was from the therapist in Iowa, it still ground on Kirk a bit to acknowledge him. Annoyingly enough, that was probably a sign he needed to talk to him a lot more.

Loomis hesitated with a knowing smile. Kirk, for a moment, assumed Loomis must be a telepath, then remembered otherwise. He smiled painfully at how transparent he was probably being. Let go of Loomis's hand.

Spock approached Kirk. "I am to ensure you accompany me to Commander Overlander's apartment when I return Zienn there."

Kirk touched him on the arm, pulled back again. "We need to talk a bit. About the assignment I'm about to request."

Spock nodded minutely. "Of course."

Kirk expected he'd start to feel the ground again any moment. There was still far too much air beneath his feet.

\-------- 8888 --------

So many of the Ranger's crew had attempted to cram into Overlander's apartment that the door was electronically locked open and the party filled the square corridor surrounding the transparent lifts up the middle. A denser pack crowded around the row of windows looking out through the open air emergency stairway to the skyline beyond.

"Commander," Ensign Gall said as Kirk exited the lift.

Kirk looked around the crowd, turned to Zienn, who remained near the back of the lift, then turned to Spock. 

Before he could speak, Spock said, "I will escort Zienn to the embassy."

"That was the plan, I assume."

Spock stepped back as Kirk stepped out. "Affirmative."

A drink was pressed into Kirk's hand by someone from engineering. Kirk refused to stop and talk to just one person, needed to see everyone all at once.

It was always this way. Once an assignment ended, everything ended. People scattered as if they hadn't gotten to know more about each other's strengths and weaknesses in half a year than most did in a lifetime. 

There were half a dozen from the Sanchez. People he only knew by sight, some he didn't recognize at all. All looked a lot better than when he'd last seen them, all of them were already three sheets to the wind.

"You were confident, Commander," Kirk said to Overlander when he finally wormed his way to the kitchen area of the main room where she was playing bartender in front of three punch bowls.

"It was either a party or a wake. Either one was a good enough excuse." She dropped her voice, leaned over the pink, smoking punch bowl. "How'd Zienn do? He okay?"

"He's fine. But I don't think he fully followed the lawyer's instructions."

Overlander grinned. "He's not used to having anyone tell him what to do. What a way to live, eh?"

Kirk watched Spock near the bedroom door. He was still in his dress cadet uniform. He was speaking with three of the engineering crew from the Ranger, including Mouse, who was using her taller companions to blockade herself from the rest of the room. 

Spock looked more relaxed into the conversation than he ever did at the Academy. It occurred to Kirk that Spock was going to lose his Academy cohort when he departed for the temple, and that wasn't going to make things any easier for him. He would return to the Academy and be with a whole new class of plebes who knew each other but not him. Assuming he remained away for an entire year, as Zienn thought best.

Spock turned, sensing Kirk's attention. Kirk gave him an affectionate smile, turned back to the conversation near him so Spock would remain put, socializing with others.

\-------- 8888 --------

"I lost count at five. No six. Maybe. Actually, I don't know." Kirk said. 

The room had emptied, but a droning percussion was still playing in Kirk's head, making it seem busy and loud. His mouth felt stuffed with raw cotton. The light glowing on the building glass outside might be the sunrise.

Overlander shook a bottle of pills, held it out.

"What if I want to stay drunk longer?" Kirk asked.

"I think your boyfriend wants to put you to bed. I'd not recommend going to sleep as you are, unless you're punishing yourself for something."

"What bed? Whose bed?" Kirk said.

She turned to Spock. Kirk didn't hear Spock's answer, or couldn't focus on it.

"His bed. He says."

Kirk held up a hand to be pulled to his feet. Overlander yanked him up with her mechanical arm, then turned his hand palm up and forced the pills into it, pushed a glass of watery juice into his other hand.

"Hell with it," Kirk said. It was tough getting all five pills in his mouth at once. He had to eat them off his sticky hand.

Spock stood with his hip hitched on the back edge of the couch, arms crossed, looking vaguely concerned.

"I'm okay," Kirk said around a mouthful of pills. He needed all the liquid to get them down, and at least one stuck in his throat.

Kirk looked into the empty glass, handed it over. "It was really good seeing everyone. Thank you for pulling that together," he said to Overlander.

She seemed amused. "Yeah. You're welcome."

Spock came around the couch, stood facing him, waited. Kirk touched Spock's uniform along the seam running down the side of his abdomen. 

Kirk said, "I liked seeing you get a chance to catch up with the people you met on the Ranger."

Overlander brought another dilute juice and held it out to Kirk. "You wouldn't say that if you had noticed the eye Hully's got on your boyfriend."

Spock's brows lowered, then one angled upward. Kirk winked at him.

"She doesn't stand a chance," Kirk said, then had to stifle a yawn, and lost his balance.

As if by silent agreement, they caught him at the same moment. Spock put Kirk's arm over his shoulder and Overlander let go. A transporter took hold and he and Spock emerged in Spock's room at the embassy.

"You have too much money," Kirk said. He still held the empty glass. He waved it around, but there wasn't any place to set it down. He hmfed.

Spock walked them toward the bathroom. Kirk shook him off. The pills were taking effect, clearing his head, freeing his body. He drank another glass of water, discovered that even the cold water tap was tepid, no matter how long he ran it, suspected that was by design. He washed his face, washed it again more thoroughly. He looked in the mirror. "I don't even want to ask what time it is."

"Perhaps a few hours of sleep is in order, no matter the current time?"

"Yeah. Let's do that."

Changed into soft robes, they curled up together on Spock's bed. Kirk didn't feel sleep anywhere near to overtaking him. He ran a hand over Spock's robed body, then stopped, curled his head so his forehead rested on Spock's chest.

"I suspect I can assist you to sleep."

Fingers sneaked in under Kirk's collar, pressed at the back of his neck.

"No. I have a technique. I should practice it. If I can't sleep on demand no matter how shitty I feel, I'm sunk." Kirk paused. "Thanks though."

Spock's hand rubbed at the hairs at the back of Kirk's neck. "Understood."

After a minute, Kirk said, "We need to talk."

"Later, perhaps."

Kirk struggled with waiting. He disliked needing to consider anyone else's emotions in his decisions and wanted to establish that as reality. He wanted to believe Spock would understand that need. Kirk sighed again. He started with his toes, relaxed each of them in turn. He was asleep before he made it to his knees.

Kirk woke with extreme reluctance, stretched to delay real movement. He was still groggy, despite the hangover pills. Spock was bending over him, wearing in his duty uniform, looking as chipper as ever.

Kirk scrubbed his face. "I continue to have to work to not hate you for your body chemistry. Or whatever it is makes you so resilient."

"It is several factors, enzyme production chiefly, in this case."

Kirk smiled. "Of course I got an answer. You need to go?"

"I have class at oh nine hundred. As it is Saturday, my duties at the Academy will be completed at thirteen hundred. But I am ordered to report to Captain Sulu aboard the USS Lexington at fourteen hundred." He hesitated. "It seems rather abrupt."

"They are probably about to get orders. Could pull out anytime."

"I see."

"You'll be fine. I promise." Kirk let his affection fill his gaze. "Don't I always fulfill my promises?"

"Surprisingly. Yes." Spock straightened. "I did wonder which uniform was appropriate."

"That one you've got on."

"I had no criteria for a decision."

"That's why you ask. Biggest mistake is not asking when you need to." He held out out a hand, pulled Spock down for a kiss. Spock's mouth felt soft this morning, attentive.

When he was alone, Kirk curled himself upward to a sitting position, found his head didn't swim, got out of bed. Somewhere in this building, based on past experience, there was a gooey cheese omelette with his name on it. His sour stomach propelled him to his feet and toward the shower.

Amanda sat with her tea while Kirk ate breakfast.

She asked about the hearing. Kirk answered in generalities, balancing between the requirement for secrecy and what she was already well aware of.

Kirk put his fork down. "I'd never leave home with omelettes like this available."

She smiled her restrained smile. "Have you seen the feeds this morning?"

Kirk's back pulled taut. "No. Do I need to?"

Kirk scanned them on her padd. Some were factual only, a few decided the reader needed a recap of Kirk's more lurid past adventures, most had a positive light, others bore an undertone of admonishment. Clearly he'd done something seriously wrong, or he'd not have had to regain his position. Favoritism seemed likely, that or Kirk had done penance of some kind.

"That reminds me that I need to talk to someone at the Academy about having them host a public appearance."

She nodded. "It would be wise to get out in front of the headlines. If you are feeling up to it."

Of course she understood this. Kirk said, "I think even if I'm not."

She held her teacup as if for warmth, no longer sipped from it. "Be prepared for the most difficult questions. Especially the ones you don't want to answer."

"Be prepared to answer for all of Starfleet, if necessary. I've seen it in person. The shots are aimed at the available target, no matter who it is."

Kirk stood to go back to Spock's room to borrow one of his communicators. "I'll go set it up right now. Maybe I can give an actual lecture. Command something. Tactics something. That will give me a little leeway and some cover to duck behind."

He pushed in his chair. "Thank you for the wonderful breakfast." He bit his lips, felt his eyes getting hot. "Thank you for your son, actually." He looked down at his demolished plate, fork and knife skewed across it even though he'd tried to straighten things. "I think I might have been okay, even without my commission back. And it would have been one hundred percent Spock's presence that made it okay."

She put her teacup down, considered him. "I didn't expect to ever say this to you, James. But I think you underestimate yourself."

Kirk chuckled, rubbed one sore eye. Started to speak, gave it up as beyond his hungover brain.

"Go take care of your things," she said through a suppressed smile.


	37. Lexington

The USS Lexington hung in powered orbit just above Starfleet's main earth station. The ship's transporter technician looked Spock up and down in his first year cadet blues.

"I was ordered to report to Captain Sulu," Spock said.

The technician touched the comm, got this confirmed. An ensign came in, stated that Spock should follow her. She led Spock to the hanger deck, where three members of engineering and the captain and captain's yeoman were discussing deck operations and parts supply. 

The ensign led Spock to within four meters of the group and stopped and waited, hands behind her back.

Captain Sulu looked over. "Is it fourteen hundred already?" He turned back to the group. "Work out and agree on a plan and write it up. I promised someone a tour."

Sulu took Spock in with an inviting lift of his hand, and Spock followed him out of the hanger deck. 

"Ever been on a Constitution Class ship, Cadet?"

"No sir."

"Admittedly, this doesn't give the best impression. It's quiet while we're in orbit. Only one shift on board."

They took the lift up two levels, exited crisply. On the way aft, they stepped into Botany. 

Sulu stopped beside a plant on a front table with leaves like swallowtail butterflies.

"Lepidarus Nostrodamus from Signus Seven. Ever seen it?"

"No sir." Spock kept his distance, even as Sulu leaned in close enough to almost touch his forehead on a black and gold leaf.

"The natives think the leaves come to life and alight on whoever is supposed to be the next chief. This one is either still immature, or that doesn't really happen." He stood back. "Lovely though, isn't it? On time lapse it does look like a butterfly convention."

Sulu stepped along between tables, tilting his head one way, then the other, checking soil meters as he went. He stopped before a pink flower, said hello to it. The flower emerged from a fat bud like a hand, waved finger-like protrusions.

"Hello, my lovely. Her name is Gladys." He looked back at Spock. "She gets angry if you don't say hello."

Spock felt a prickle in the muscles that ran horizontal across his upper back, an unfamiliar sensation. "I cannot discern what is a jest in your interactions, Captain."

The flower screeched, not just audibly, but psychically. Spock restrained himself to a flinch with great effort.

"Hello, Gladys," Spock said, in perfectly logical self defense.

The flower cocked its bloom, the way one would if dubious of someone's sincerity. 

Captain Sulu was smiling to himself as he passed Spock. "She's very sensitive."

Spock needed time to recover. He followed slowly, looking ahead for hazards among the greens and blues that he had no means of discerning. The remaining plants on the tour were less sentient, more extraordinary for their chemical properties and environments. Spock had not studied much botany and greatly increased his estimate for how much one would need to learn to conduct research on such a vessel.

Captain Sulu still wore a private smile when they reached the far door of the department. "Anything in particular you'd like to see other than the engine room, which everyone wants to see?"

"The computer core. The sensor arrays."

"We'll swing by both then while were in this hull. Come." 

Sulu pointed out some details as they passed, clearly warmed to his topic. 

In the central corridor leading aft, Spock slowed. The bulkheads was narrower here than the specification, odd for such a critical passage of the ship. Sulu turned on his toes and walked facing backward until Spock caught up again. Sulu's steps were unusually light for a human.

"Something of interest?"

"A major conduit must have been added here beyond this bulkhead that was not on the ship's original diagrams."

Sulu looked around. "It's always been like that. I could get someone from engineering to accompany us for the tour. If you are going to have questions of that sort."

"It's not that important, sir. It will have been documented and I can review that rather than use your time or anyone else's."

"You studied this class of vessel before the tour?"

"I did not have an opportunity to do so in depth given the abruptness of your invitation, Captain." The narrow section ended at the next intersection. Spock looked around, noted access panels with extra wear on edges and clips, others beside them were pristine. His back still prickled from Gladys's psychic cry. "My current working knowledge stems from directing the technicalities of the attack on the USS Potemkin."

Sulu turned to Spock, considered him. "Hm." He nodded to himself. "Touché."

In Engineering, Spock attracted attention which Sulu ignored. Spock found the sensor bay more interesting, the way equipment was clearly temporary, clearly hacked together and repeatedly altered.

On the way to the officer's deck in the lift, Sulu said, "Did you talk to Kirk about this interview?"

"Yes. I asked him which uniform was appropriate."

"Duty uniform was the right decision."

Sulu triggered open the door to his quarters.

"Discuss anything else?"

"He said I should be myself."

Sulu took the seat behind his desk and gestured that Spock should take the visitor's chair. The suite was spacious and contained numerous superfluous built-in decorations. Spock wondered at their presence given the additional cost and maintenance complications on top of the complications of such a large ship to start with.

"Are you being yourself?" Sulu asked kindly.

"I am. It is why I asked about the impact of various design decisions on your experience and opinion of this vessel."

"Most of which I've never thought about or barely noticed or haven't noticed in months. She's my ship. I love her for what she is." Sulu hesitated, rubbed the tip of his nose. "But onto other things, Cadet." 

Sulu rocked back in his chair. "I'm concerned. Which is why you are here."

"So I was informed. I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Captain."

"Youth always mistakenly believes that. How do you refer to Commander Kirk? Jim?"

"James."

"I expect you are going to protect James as much as possible in this conversation. I'm still trying to suss out the most workable approach out of many possible doomed approaches. I want you to trust me, but I have to give you a reason to."

Spock raised a brow. "If I may, Captain. It was my understanding that you wished to assess my developmental level. And you now have a sample of data from which to do so from our tour of the ship."

"That was my plan originally, to simply talk to you. And while you have impressive technical knowledge and curiosity, that says nothing about your personal maturity." He rubbed the tip of his nose again. "I'm hampered now by what is appropriate to discuss with your race."

Spock raised both brows, spoke firmly. "I am half human, sir. I intend to spend my career around humans, most of whom will not follow said guidelines. If it is possible to, I give you my permission to ignore protocol." Spock bowed his head, found his core of quiet and settled over it. "I apologize if I sound impatient, sir."

"You are remarkably un-nervous for someone of your rank in this situation."

"Emotion is something I separate from my behavior as much as possible."

"I can see that. That include decisions about lovers?"

"Yes. Especially so."

"Why didn't you tell James you were underage?"

"I did not understand that I was."

Sulu sat forward. His broad face grew broader in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"My people never discuss such things without extreme necessity. And such a question about maturity-dependent consent would almost never occur. It is biologically determined and of no matter before that point."

"That still doesn't excuse Kirk from not knowing our rules. His job is to uphold rules."

"Indeed, sir."

Sulu relaxed at Spock's concession. "Do you regret things?"

"Only that I am causing James difficulty."

"If you were following his lead, the fault lies with him, not you. That's important for you to remember."

"Can you clarify that statement for me, Captain?"

"When you were on the Ranger. You would have been following his orders."

Spock raised a brow. "By no means was I following his orders. He complained often that I did not."

"You didn't obey him even though he'd rescued you and was in charge of the ship, which was patrolling far out of contact with stations or inhabited planets." 

"I had never formally agreed to be under him, rescue or no."

Sulu's eye narrowed. "When you disobeyed him, did he get angry? Change your privileges?"

"He did get angry. As to privileges I had few to start with. As one might expect given the circumstances."

"What happened when you disobeyed him? I'm having a hard time imagining he'd let that stand." Sulu sat back again, shuffled his shoulders around against the chair back. "I know I wouldn't."

"I can provide an example. He ordered me to bring him a stimulant shot from the dispensary so that, despite blast shock, he could remain upright a time longer. I refused. I told him he could wait for treatment or rest, but whatever his choice, I could wait him out as circumstances were on my side. This was after the raid on the bot factory, but before the second battle with the USS Sanchez."

"You were willing to interfere in the middle of a battle. You didn't care that he got angry?"

Spock shook his head. "Not when his wellbeing was at stake, and therefore the safety of the ship."

Sulu's lips pulled taut. "Hm." He looked down at his hand on the desk. "I remember what a mess Kirk was when we arrived." He slid his hand back and forth over the desk edge. "Your records aren't put together properly, you realize? Your contractor records don't come up automatically with your Starfleet records."

"I prefer that, sir."

"You should put them together. The experience is more than relevant. It puts you far ahead of your peers."

"I'll consider it, sir."

Sulu stared ahead of him at the table with a distant focus.

"It's important to me, Cadet, to ensure that Starfleet doesn't harbor any predators. In the command line, for certain. We have, now and then, let one or two slip through. My second ship assignment when I was a Lieutenant." Sulu's distant gaze didn't change.

"You have met Commander Kirk, sir. I do not see--"

"Predators are almost always exceedingly charming." Sulu said. "Very well liked. That's how they gather allies. Which helps to isolate their prey." Sulu ran his hand over the table edge again. "I've had Gladys since that assignment. She hated the ship's first officer." He smiled fondly. "She was the only one. It's amazing how much damage one officer can do before enough suspicion piles up to make it impossible to ignore. As a result, my tolerance for anyone I even slightly suspect is very low, less than zero if that's possible."

"James is charming because he desires others to enjoy being alive as much as he does," Spock said. "Although. I do see it also as part of inspiring his crew. Which is a not dissimilar to your example, except that he uses that power over others to order them into highly dangerous situations against their instinct for self preservation. I assume you rely on this as well. Captain?"

"Hm." Sulu exhaled audibly, looked away. "I'm tangling with you in a mode reminiscent of your father. You certainly aren't striking me as vulnerable. I admit I was concerned you were."

"I am very vulnerable, Captain. But it is due to the questionable legality of my relationship with James. Not because of James."

Sulu glanced over Spock's shoulder with a frown, a hint of impatience. "How's that?"

Spock gathered himself. "In order to have my application to the Academy processed I was subject to blackmail and mental torture at the hands of Starfleet Intelligence. For six hours I had to make myself a cooperative subject for an experimental interrogation method for hostiles, or I my application would be scuttled. James attempted to halt the experiment, but he too was blackmailed, with this very issue you are pursuing. It is this issue which brings me to harm." 

Sulu said, "That shouldn't have happened. If you are portraying it fairly, that is."

"I believe I am, sir." Spock was pleased at how level he sounded. He almost didn't sound like himself.

"Do you have proof?"

"Captain, I still fear either myself or James being injured by administrative action."

"Only James is at risk. Unless he's holding something over you."

"Every aspect of James's wellbeing is my concern, sir. I am not skilled at aiding a human who is struggling emotionally, and James has just now been returned to his optimum situation. I have no desire to harm that by provoking others who can damage it."

"So, I'm going to order you to answer me, Cadet. Is there proof?"

Spock considered that he should have expected that. He needed far more practice at this kind of interaction. "Commander Iona of Starfleet Security stated that he was going to obtain the full records of that session from Intelligence for his own records, but I do not know if he succeeded. The Ranger's CMO, Chapel, recovered several hundred of the neurobots from my brain. They had malfunctioned and become lodged rather than getting filtered out when the session was terminated."

"How did the Ranger's CMO get involved?"

"Against regulation, admittedly, James took me to the USS Ranger. Dr. Chapel did her residency on Vulcan and is more qualified than most physicians to see to my care."

"You required medical care as a result of this . . . session?"

Spock couldn't help dropping his gaze in annoyance. "Yes, sir."

"Hm."

Sulu slid his hand over the desk again. "You know the names of the people in Intel you dealt with? I can again make that an order."

Spock summarized the events with dispassion. His retelling was interrupted twice by communications from various ship's officers. Each time, Sulu immediately returned his full attention to Spock, a skill Spock had noticed few humans possessed, but if they were in command, it was requisite.

"That really shouldn't have happened," Sulu said when Spock concluded. "And I see what you mean by this issue leaving you vulnerable."

"I have also noticed, Captain, that I am not always deemed worthy of humane consideration."

"Don't take it personally. It happens with other humans too. Full humans."

"I see."

"Nonetheless, I feel compelled to follow up on this." 

"Captain, I do not expect to be protected. It is not the Vulcan way. We are supposed to survive and prosper, no matter the difficulties. We are supposed to remove the difficulties or remove the impact they have on us. And I am very concerned about the repercussions, sir." 

"I'll be careful. You aren't as vulnerable as you think. Any leak from Intel is considered a severe failure of their mission. They know all kinds of damaging things that they keep under wraps every day."

Spock resisted arguing further, looked away. "I understand, sir, that I am supposed to put my faith in you."

"You are. That's the point, actually." Sulu leaned forward, put his elbow on the desk. "I tell you I'm hunting predators and you tell me about one in Intel. You are supposed to have faith it will be dealt with."

Sulu's voice grew softer. "The experience still bother you?"

"Must I answer that, Captain?"

Sulu tilted his head to the side. "Well. Yes, I prefer that you do, or I wouldn't have asked."

"Yes. At times."

"And it bothers you that it bothers you."

Spock centered himself, this time successfully. "Indeed."

Sulu smiled faintly. "You think I don't know your type? You might feel the outsider, but you are very much like half the crew of this ship. Beings most brutal when criticizing themselves."

Sulu sat back with a sigh. "At the Academy, Cadet, is there someone you can go to for help? Someone not your parents, for whom pride is guaranteed to get in the way of open consultation."

"Captain Chanel."

"No, specifically not her. She worships Commander Kirk."

Spock raised a brow. "Lieutenant Grange of Student Services whom I frequently work with. He does not worship anyone."

"The gruff sort?" Sulu talked around a smile.

"Yes. But has demonstrated an annoyingly stubborn level of concern for me."

Sulu's lips wrinkled fully into a smile. "That's perfect. Will you promise me if you have any issues, any at all, you'll go to him with them? Let him assist?"

Spock resisted raising his eyebrow again. "Yes, Captain."

"You're promising me, correct? Vulcans are supposed to be as good as their word."

"Yes, sir. I am promising you."

"All right then. That makes me feel better abandoning you when we get final orders to depart. I might send him a message in a few weeks. Check up on you."

"I cannot object, sir."

"The more I talk to you, the more I want to ensure you succeed. When you graduate, I'll see if we have a place for you here on Lexington. We don't usually take on NUBs."

"I am flattered, Captain, but I am hoping to be assigned under James."

"Yes, I guess you would be." He appeared to suppress a deeper smile. "Does James fence?"

"I do not believe so."

"I was thinking a friendly or perhaps not so friendly match to see who gets you." Sulu pushed to his feet, leaned over the desk. "Tell him to learn. Okay?"

Spock stood also, waited to see if this was a jest, received no hint it might be. "Yes, sir."

Sulu nodded to himself, came out from behind the desk. "If I take you to the bridge, someone will remember you from the Ranger. Would you like to do that?"

"It is not necessary, Captain."

"No reason to be shy. We don't bite." Sulu waited, raised his hand in invitation. "Come on. It's nearing the end of alpha shift and I should check in anyway."

Spock followed, steeled himself for what, he could not predict. The bridge was quiet when the lift doors opened. 

"Captain on the bridge," the yeoman standing beside the center chair announced. 

A commander in red vacated the seat, spun it straight again and waited beside the yeoman at attention. Spock thought this an unusually high level of formality.

"Thank you, Opo, you can hold the Conn. I'm just checking in."

Spock remained by the lift doors. The lieutenant at communications looked up at Spock, and kept looking as he talked over the comm about stowing supplies. Spock studied each of the stations in turn. Not much was happening except at engineering, where systems were being calibrated and at nav due to the heavy traffic in low earth orbit.

The bridge was spacious, the lighting done with thoughtful care toward the emotional impact it had. The deck levels were carpeted, in three different colors. Captain Chanel's derision aimed at 'expensive showpieces' was beginning to seem more logical and less emotional.

Sulu spoke to engineering for three minutes, moved to Nav. He looked up at Spock, deep in thought, asked Nav if there was any issues with getting to their next destination. Nav split her screen to pull up courses and hazard notices.

Communications pulled his earpiece, said to Spock, "You decided to make your service official, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir."

Helm turned while keeping his hands on his station, looked Spock up and down.

"That the Vulcan from the Ranger, Captain?"

Others turned.

"Yes. I thought he'd like a tour. Now that we're all patched up again. Can't say he didn't try to prevent us getting hit."

Spock sensed a tensing of the bridge crew. 

From where Sulu stood before the Nav console, he gave Spock a wry smile. He came aft, stepped lightly up to the lift doors. He glanced around the bridge over his shoulder. "You've already done simple simulations of all the stations, correct? You know something of what's going on."

"All but scanner, sir. Or I believe it is Sciences on this vessel."

"You were running scanner on the Ranger."

"Tertiary, sir."

"You weren't trained?"

"No, sir. I used the raw data feeds and programmed appropriate filters to the circumstances. There wasn't exactly time to learn the interfaces."

"Hm." Sulu looked around the bridge again as if checking for more reactions from his crew. Nav and Helm were looking sideways over their shoulders back at them.

Sulu said, "One more stop, Cadet, and I'll let you get back to your studies."

They stepped across the otherwise empty observation deck to where the space station and a dizzying multitude of ships were hanging in orbit visible through the lower half of the large, curved porthole.

Sulu said, "I do believe you had better instincts about my bridge than I did. I was hoping to get you to look forward to joining us."

"I observe that they are a tightly-knit crew, sir."

Sulu nodded, seemingly to himself as usual. "Well, Cadet. I'm worried much less about you. But I am going to check in on you."

"Yes, sir."

"And in turn, keep an eye on our missions, okay? I think you'll find we have the most interesting assignments going. We're not stuck at one of the DMZs often like Enterprise is. Unless you prefer battle. I may be misreading you."

"Battles are an illogical waste of resources, sir."

"I thought your sentiment would run along that line." He nodded again. "Well, James is safe from me. Intel might not be. Nevertheless, I'll be careful of making waves. Your father's comments about James made quite an impression."

Spock hesitated. "I do not know to which comments you refer."

"James didn't tell you? Well, I suppose it was spoken during a closed panel, but it wasn't pertinent to the reasons it was closed. I'm surprised he didn't mention it."

"He did not."

"Interesting. Your father lauded James in no uncertain terms. Said he wouldn't replace him in your life with anyone, human or Vulcan."

Spock felt his brows pinching together without his will. "My father said that, sir?"

"Yes. That and Kirk's point about not considering that a nineteen year old who is four times smarter than a human of the same age could possibly be underage is also working on me. He does have a point. Even though it doesn't wholly excuse his sloppiness with the rules." He looked Spock's face over in detail. "I got the sense today that you were holding back. Trying not to show off in order to blend in."

Spock hadn't consciously done so, but wondered if he hadn't been finding that led to easier interactions and had been gravitating to that behavior at the Academy. "Perhaps, sir."

"Shows maturity." Sulu tilted his head away from the observation port. "Come, Cadet. I'll show you out."


	38. Careful

Kirk sat in the window seat of his dorm room, feet propped up on the desk. He was still loose from a long, easy run. The door chimed and Spock stepped inside. His posture and expression were casually neutral.

"How was the Lexington?"

"Fascinating."

Spock stopped beside the desk. The inside edges of his brows were pulled together. "Captain Sulu requested that I inform you that you must learn to fence."

"What kind?"

"It was not specified."

Kirk scratched his ear. "Okay. Anything else?"

Spock stared thoughtfully out through the dimmed glass. "He apparently utilizes a psychic plant to judge the moral standing of beings."

Kirk pushed his shoulders back and held in a smile. "Spock, I think you got taken for a ride."

"I assume that is a turn of speech, since you are aware the Lexington remained in orbit."

"Yes." Kirk looked him over. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Spock declined to sit. "You will be pleased to learn that Captain Sulu did state that he would drop further inquiry into your actions. But I may have made a miscalcuation otherwise."

Kirk put his padd aside and sat forward. "You did really well in that case. What miscalculation was that?"

"I informed him about the events at Starfleet Intelligence regarding my application approval for Starfleet Academy. And I expect he is going to pursue that."

"Hm. Not a bad tactic, giving him someone else to go after."

"It was not intentional. And I feel it puts you additionally at risk."

Kirk stretched his upper back. "I'll be out of reach before anything comes of it. Have a seat. We need to talk."

Spock complied this time, took the chair beside the desk, rested his long hands in his lap. Kirk looked him over, memorized him there with the lines of his uniform accenting the triangular shape of his shoulders, his narrow hips.

"I'm requesting duty in the Lohanna Sector," Kirk said. "You know where or what that is?"

"No."

"It is the last colony area that is actively in dispute. About ten marginal class-M colony worlds in four relatively close systems. Given the vagaries of space, no assignment is safe, but this one is probably less safe than average. But I feel it's what I need to do."

Spock's head twitched to the side. "You were concerned that I would object?"

"I didn't know what you were going to do."

"Is this what you would have chosen if we did not know each other?"

Kirk's throat felt full. "Yes."

Spock nodded. "Then it seems the logical assignment for you to request."

Kirk smiled painfully. "It's almost harder with you understanding so well."

"I wish you to be pleased with your position."

"In terms of us." Kirk pointed his thumb back and forth between them. "It lets me move up faster. I need to make it to full commander in two years. I think I can comfortably do that, especially with this assignment. That gives me three years and some to make it to captain. Which is going to be tough, but I'm going to try." 

Spock didn't move. Kirk almost asked for feedback. 

Kirk said, "If you are really going to Vulcan for a year at the end of this term, that almost lines up with a standard 8 month assignment plus two extensions, which are usually granted automatically. I can be back here on earth for a month or so before getting another assignment. Hopefully command of a vessel. Or maybe, if I think I can bear it, first officer on something large.

"I'm going to have to be Starfleet's darling at the moment you graduate. So I can personally request you. Otherwise it could be three years before you can request a move to the same ship as me."

Spock said, "And you need to learn fencing."

Kirk tipped his head to the side. "I do?"

"Captain Sulu intends to duel for me."

Kirk laughed, rubbed his shoulder. "I didn't have a good read on that man, at all."

Spock's brow furrowed. "I wonder now why he did not do the logical thing and invite you to the Lexington and introduce you to Gladys."

Kirk worried he was being trolled indirectly through Spock's earnest naïveté. "And Gladys is?"

"Hypermongus Kitarius. She must be the only known specimen as there is only one entry in the Federation databanks with no known planetary origin." Spock flinched as if in memory. "When she screeches, it is quite painful."

Kirk tried not to smile. "Did you enjoy the tour otherwise?"

"Yes. It was highly informative. The bridge crew remembered me, with mixed emotion."

"Yeah, I bet. You are a stark reminder of poor decisions that led to a hull breach. No one wants to be reminded of that. They'd have had the same reaction to me. Don't take it personally."

"I did not."

Kirk memorized him again. Felt warmth for his earnest innocence. "Think you'd like being assigned to a ship like that?"

Spock hesitated, nodded.

Kirk smiled. "We'll see what we can do."

Spock raised his brows almost to his bangs. "Captain Sulu at thirty nine was young to be given such a command."

" . . . during wartime, when it's easier to get pushed up rapidly." Kirk lifted his chin. "Never know until you try, Spock."

Spock stood, pushed in his chair. "I have project meetings I must depart for."

"I was about to ask about that."

"I will return around twenty-two hundred if you wish."

"I do wish. What's tomorrow look like?"

"My father requests that I dine with him at noon. And Zienn is willing to attempt a tutoring session with me in the afternoon. Lunch with my father will be alone. I believe he wants to make this a regular activity."

Kirk smiled. "Good to hear."

Spock stepped toward the door, stopped and turned. "When will you be issued official orders?"

"Within the week. And transport arrangements will likely be within two weeks of that."

Spock nodded. Looked ready to say more, but nodded again and departed.

\-------- 8888 --------

Kirk was dozing when the door chimed, despite his determination to stay awake. He refused to believe one late night was enough to do this to him. He could not be that old yet. The padd slid off his lap and flickered on, the only light in the room, showing the sector reports he'd been reading when he'd nodded off. He called for the door to unseal and Spock stepped inside.

Kirk rubbed his eyes. The lights came up to low dim at the movement.

"Studying?" Spock asked with what Kirk was certain was a hint of a tease.

"Yeah. Can't learn too much. Never know what obscure knowledge you can put to use in the field." He grunted, pushed off the window seat. "I hope you're ready to sleep because I am."

Kirk stripped off his shirt and crawled into his bed in his workout shorts. Spock stripped completely and joined him. The lights dimmed gradually.

Kirk rubbed Spock's smooth, bare back. He pulled the covers up better. "Don't want a robe for warmth?"

Spock's leg shifted over Kirk's, his body pressed closer so their chests were in contact. "I expected that we would be intimate."

Kirk opened his mouth, closed it again. 

Spock lifted his head. Kirk imagined his right brow was up. 

"James?"

Kirk made a sound of annoyance, shook his head. "Something your father said is bothering me."

There was a pause in the darkness. "Do you mean when he stated that he would not replace you with anyone else in my life?"

Kirk lifted his head. "How'd you hear that?"

Spock put his head down again, harder than necessary. "Captain Sulu."

"That man is downright dangerous. How'd I not see that?" Kirk rolled his eyes. "He tell you what Sarek said before that?"

"No."

"Good thing your father wasn't on the truthteller, that's all I can say. He stated that he believed you were an adult, but it was an obvious lie."

"It is true that I am very young relative to my lifespan."

Kirk stared at the ceiling. His eyes had adapted enough to see the light sifting through the dimmed window. "Maybe." Kirk touched Spock on the shoulder, stroked lightly. "He told me once that you deserved to have your status changed with Starfleet, but I wonder if that was just his way of making sure his family was none of 'Fleet's concern. Spock . . . Look, I feel more conflicted than I should and I have to sort that out or I'm acting irresponsibly. It's not that I haven't had the opportunity to, but nevertheless. And maybe it's just silly to need to rethink things after how close we've been for this long--"

Spock's mouth took hold of Kirk's. Kirk kissed him back, let his shoulders fall lax, let Spock's rough hot tongue trace the inside of his teeth. Kirk huffed when he was released. Spock rested his head beside his again. Kirk shifted his shoulders to get comfortable. 

"I'm sorry," Kirk said. "If it seems like I'm punishing you."

"I revoke my implied objection, and apologize for making it."

Kirk sniffled into the darkness, pulled in the scent of Spock's neck. "You do?"

"Yes. I understand better what you are trying not to be."

Kirk frowned. Almost growled. "Captain Sulu again?"

"Yes."

Kirk shook his head faintly. He put together more coherent words. "Your father's opinion is now far more important to me. Because your father is more important to me." Kirk ran his fingertips down the soft flesh on the back of Spock's upper arm. "I'm glad you're going to get some time away from me. You need some room to grow."

"I am not pleased by this prospect," Spock said into Kirk's ear.

"You were an amazing being when we met. I don't want to influence you too much." He kept stroking Spock's arm. "We'll talk often until the end of the term when I'm off duty. Then you'll be wrapped up in all things high priest. It won't be that long."

Silence fell for a time.

"You promise?" Spock asked.

"Yes. I promise."

\-------- 8888 --------

Spock stepped into the embassy tea room. The table was set with the usual mixture of woven glass mats in pale greens and rough stoneware in ochre and tan, but no one was present. He was eight minutes early, a habit he had gained at the Academy to ensure he could find a seat that was not beside or in front of someone who physically reacted to him.

Spock stood before the heavily framed windows and looked out the diamond shaped panes into the light well. The light felt stingy today, a dull silver. He heard his father approach and enter, but did not turn until Sarek had reached the table.

Spock clasped his hands before him. "Thank you for everything, Father. I know you considered it your duty, but I still have need of speaking."

Sarek nodded with enough formality Spock knew he was expected to move on from expressing more gratitude.

Sarek took a seat and Spock followed his lead. Sarek paged the staff and soup was brought in, ioreek soup today. 

"Your mother finds the scent foul, so it is logical to have it in her absence."

The oily, sharply bitter, vaguely tomatoey scent of it being ladled made Spock feel famished.

"I am curious about the content of your courses since we last spoke," Sarek said.

Spock tasted the soup, put his spoon down again with discipline. "I completed a rather difficult but illuminating assignment in the advanced course. To design a ship in four days."

"Have you managed to gain enough background knowledge to progress adequately?"

"That remains undetermined. I do not believe I am the weakest student and that was my primary concern."

"Your other classes? Were you challenged this week?"

Spock sat back. "Too much so in Galactic Cultures."

Sarek's brow went up, then his face was forced neutral again. "Given your upbringing, exposed to travel off planet as you were, I am curious how this is difficult for you."

"This week's class, we covered Kolpra's Advancement of Belief and Rule-Making Metric." Spock picked up his spoon again, ate rather than further admit weakness. 

"I have never heard of that," Sarek said.

"I was given sample contact reports and instructed to apply various assessments and metrics that we have learned, including that one. I am not skilled at this task and application of this most recent model was the most fraught with error of the set, according to the autograder."

"I see. I admit the course title led me to expect exposure to cultures, not quantification of them. But lack of skill at this stage is no matter if you can improve."

Spock put his spoon down again. "The course does include cultural overviews, an attempt to communicate the vast range of cultural adaptations one might encounter. I have no difficulty comprehending those materials. But I have no idea how to improve my ability to assess and quantify based on the provided metrics. My attempts to rethink the process have resulted in worse scores. And the assistance built into the learning system to further illuminate the cultural measures are rather humanly biased."

Sarek seemed to relax, reached for the salted herbs and sprinkled them on his soup. "That further supports my theory that Starfleet's measures of culture are dismayingly human centric." He lifted his spoon. "Would you accept some assistance?"

"I would."

"T'Gowen, who uses an office here at the embassy part of the year, is what humans would label an anthropologist. She may be able cast these metrics into a Vulcan mentality for you. At least enough to let you improve on your current performance."

"I do not wish to misuse her time," Spock said.

Sarek's brows came down in dismay for the first time during the meal. His face grew hard. "You truly are concerned thusly?"

Spock put his hands in his lap. "I seem to have misspoken, Father."

"Not if that is your logical conclusion. You have not misspoken."

Sarek looked Spock over, then his gaze faded inward. "It is not a misuse of an expert's time to teach. Knowledge is the backbone of our people and it must be passed on." Sarek turned his head as if hoping for Spock to illuminate his logic.

Spock did not want to explain himself and diverge their discussion into his own limitations.

"I stand corrected, Father. I will consult her."

Sarek stiffened. It was a subtle reaction, but unmistakable. He was leaving himself vulnerable and open again, as he had last time. Spock was not entirely comfortable with his father in this mode. 

Spock said, "Captain Sulu followed up yesterday, ordered me to the Lexington."

"You are changing the topic." This wasn't a criticism. It was a gentle chide.

Spock stared at his half eaten bowl. 

Sarek said, "I am going to risk guessing with insufficient data. You are pleased to be at Starfleet Academy in large part because you are highly curious and eager to learn and no one there is impatient with you. Likely the opposite."

Spock thought it unnecessary to nod, but did so anyway.

Sarek began eating again. "T'Gowen may be impatient with you. I do not know. Her interactions with me are no precedent. Impatient or not, you will certainly not be wasting her time." The last was spoken forcefully.

Spock nodded again, picked up his spoon.

The empty soup bowls were taken away and baked lyceep sticks came out, neatly parallel on the plate, stuck in place with dabs of mashed potatoes. They were typically snacks for Vulcan children, but on earth they became refined, were acceptable to serve to adults, who were pleased with the reminder of home.

Spock had never really liked them on Vulcan. They tasted too much of the sandy stone used to grind the grain. These were made with earth semolina flour and were much better.

"And regarding Captain Sulu?" Sarek finally asked.

"Everything is settled," Spock said. 

"You must have handled the interview well."

"Too well."

"Is that possible?"

"He wants to assign me to his ship when I have completed my studies." Spock couldn't keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Sarek's dubious left brow twitched. "Such an assignment would not please you?"

"I have conflicting thoughts. I would be pleased with that class of ship. It affords the greatest opportunities for equipment and exploration. But there is the remote chance I can serve under James, and Captain Sulu is a rather unusual human."

"All starship captains are, in my experience."

"I see. I suppose that is reassuring," Spock said.

"A combination of highly driven, charismatic, and organized with a few carefully guarded personal quirks. Probably harmless quirks, but one is never quite convinced of this and said captain knows that."

"That is an accurate description of Captain Sulu."

The baked sticks were gone. Sarek did not signal for the tea. He clasped his hands before himself.

"Zuram had a message relayed to me through a mutual acquaintance."

Spock looked up. His father sounded unexpectedly relaxed and factual for such a topic.

Sarek said, "He wanted to know if Sybok was really dead."

"Did you reply?"

"I used my diplomatic authority to speak to him over subspace. I told him what transpired. He was inordinately pleased that it was the human commander he had faced in battle that had ended Sybok. He praised Kirk for being logical and fair, despite forces encouraging otherwise, and was pleased to learn he was deadly and strong in this manner. Those were his words."

"If I may observe, Father. You seem unperturbed by this topic."

"I rendered your brother dead in my mind a long time ago."

Spock nodded, kept his head down.

"I have put in a request to the Vulcan Council to have Zuram and his crew removed from Tantalus Colony. I had a disturbing sense speaking with Zuram that they were not being treated well."

"Did he complain about his treatment?"

"No, it was in fact the way he seemed frightened of complaining that concerned me." Sarek shook his head. "Even I am becoming contaminated with the actionable validity of theories generated from insufficient information." He wore a soft expression as he said this.

Spock raised a brow. "James uses that very successfully."

"I prefer you not learn that from him. If you would."

"It is against my nature."

"I am pleased to hear that."

Sarek signaled for the tea and berries.


	39. Struggle

Spock knelt on the floor of Overlander's main room with his fingers steepled before him. The light reflecting off the neighboring building shone through the apartment. He slipped into level four meditation with effort. Zienn had been deep in meditation when Spock had arrived for his lesson. Spock had not taken any time that week for meditation deeper than level three and logically used the opportunity to do so.

An hour later, Zienn stirred. Spock dropped slowly through the levels, opened his eyes. He felt refreshed, hyperaware. He must manage his time better and meditate more regularly.

Zienn gestured at the floor right in front of himself. Spock crawled over to sit crosslegged directly opposite him, waited. He did not know what Zienn intended to teach him and he felt fluttering uncertainty about his ability to learn. Zienn had always been patient and Spock could not bear to lose that by disappointing him.

"I do not wish to teach you right now," Zienn said.

Spock tightened his interlocked fingers. He nodded deeply. He wanted to address Zienn as high priest, but held back. He put a hand down, intending to stand up.

Zienn's voice remained low and calm. "I wish you to remain."

Spock clasped his hands together again, let his back relax. Waited.

"I wish to learn from you," Zienn said.

Spock raised his eyes.

Zienn's face shifted. His left brow rose slightly. "You assume you have nothing to teach me. That is because the knowledge you possess you gained because you had to, not because you were instructed to gain it as part of a rigid tradition of learning. You were not taught by anyone but the trial and error of existence."

He looked straight at Spock. "You do not know how unusual that is on Vulcan." His voice grew soft. "I saw firsthand how much you struggled as a young child. I have seen hints of how much you continued to after. I want you to teach me how to struggle."

"I do not understand."

Zienn stared at his own steepled hands. "I saw scars in you and unquestioningly moved to erase that struggle from you. You did not want to be healed and I used my force of will to convince you. I do not believe anymore that that was my right."

"No. I am quite pleased with the healing I received. It was fear of re-visiting the pain, not a desire to hold onto the pain, that made me resist. I have adjusted to the change, but admit there was a time I too was concerned I suffered too little ongoing. But there is other pain to drive me. I do not fit in, even at the Academy. I fear greatly for James who will be out of reach and in danger. I struggle with courses that require modes of thinking I do not comprehend." He sat straight again. "I should never have possessed that pain you removed. And you honor me greatly by having removed it."

After a time, Zienn nodded that he accepted this. "What was it like, to be in that struggle?" Zienn asked.

Spock shook his head at the memories. "I stole a ship I only knew how to fly by simulating the controls in secret on one of the computer units in my room. And I took that ship to the edge of a war zone. I felt I had a mission, to hobble the colonists' bots. But what I really had was a deeply buried need to cease continuing as I was. Whether it ended in death or abandonment or imprisonment, it did not matter. My existence was too difficult to face indefinitely and acting without regard to myself was the only way to find hope that it wasn't endless.

"I would have been incapable of recognizing this at the time. I only comprehend it now that I am fully beyond it. Only seeing how a life and katra could be terminated so horrifically at the hands of my brother made me fear my own death for the first time. Before then I harbored a secret welcome of it, as a guaranteed way out.

"Meeting James, having him entirely to myself, and then losing him again made my everyday reality even less survivable. I was a prisoner of my family on Vulcan. I did not care where I ended up, as long as I out there where James was. Joining the Militants to sabotage them was again a lie I told myself to excuse my actions which were unthinkable if I still called myself Vulcan."

Spock's hands felt weak. He centered himself and relaxed again. "That is what struggling is like. Harming yourself, even going to great lengths to do so, because one basic need that others have supplied to them without effort cannot be fulfilled for you."

Zienn fell thoughtful. "When I asserted that my paltry struggles with traveling to the temple outside Shikahr had no meaning, you argued otherwise. I do not understand that."

"I have no right to define what is or is not a valid struggle for you. Especially I, who spent my life having my own go unrecognized. If it pains you, of course it is valid."

"It does not seem valid now."

"You have gotten stronger." Spock wondered at himself. Bowed his head.

"Unfortunate," Zienn said. "As that does not make it any easier to arrange to struggle."

"May I risk offense and ask why you wish to struggle?"

Zienn fixed his eyes on the middle distance, staring through Spock's chest. "I do not understand this journey I am on. I was not taught to consider that there was a journey. Only striving and escape, for which, as you have pointed out previously, I was rewarded with praise and exceptional treatment."

Spock tried out his next words twice in his head before speaking. "But you feel you must understand this journey. You do struggle with not understanding."

"It is an annoyance, yes," Zienn said with a hint of sharpness.

"Precisely. It is a struggle. You are struggling."

Zienn's brows lowered. He glared at Spock. "This will be unsolvable."

Zienn held up his hand before Spock could apologize. Spock slouched again, let his hands rest loosely in his lap and waited.

Zienn's eyes became active. "I see better now. I have been trying to dispose of my exalted high priesthood. I have been trying to damage it. I believe I understand you better just by recognizing this. It does not matter what change will be triggered by the destructive behavior, as long as there is a change. The status quo is intolerable, but I do not know why that is so. And that is an annoyance. Perhaps that annoyance is a struggle. If you tell me it is, I will trust you." He looked up at Spock.

"I do not feel qualified to be on this side of a discussion with you."

"I am well aware. Yet another struggle for you. You must have dozens." He said this with a lift of one brow.

Spock almost spoke, held back. Zienn raised both brows as if waiting for him to speak.

Spock said, "You are being humorous."

"Did it work?"

"Yes."

Zienn lifted his hands. "Humor is fascinating. It is akin to poetry. I do not know why Vulcans shun it so."

Spock clasped his hands again, waited, yet more uncertain.

Zienn relaxed visibly, mirrored Spock. "But I am withholding from you the thing you most need to overcome one of your most painful struggles. What shall I teach you?"

"I am afraid I do not know what I most need."

"You struggle without knowledge, without a path, without hope for your own skills."

Spock bowed his head. "I am hoping you will guide me."

"I would like to guide you. I would like to be guided by you. I need to understand how to struggle." He looked to the side with lowered brows, spoke tartly. "Besides struggling to struggle. That is. If possible."

Spock couldn't hold back entirely on his smile. Closed his eyes and wiped his expression.

"I am agreeable to that arrangement," Spock said with as much formality as he could muster.

"Perhaps today I can help you master level five meditation. That is quite useful to me and the surrounding mind noise is of service to said learning since it forms an Other Space to exclude. Shall I guide you through that?" Zienn reached up a hand toward Spock's face.

Spock bowed his head, turned it to the side to make it easier for Zienn to place his fingers.

\-------- 8888 --------

"Still no orders," Kirk said as he kissed Spock awake on Wednesday. He pushed his dorm's monitor against the wall and sat up. He pushed Spock's hair back from his face.

"I assume you are still thinking," Spock said.

Kirk continued to push Spock's hair back.

"You have class in less than an hour," Kirk said.

"A poor excuse," Spock said, feigning a put-upon attitude.

Kirk smiled, as Spock had hoped he would.

"And you should go to your own dorm and at least pretend you spent the night there. As a show of good faith in the rules."

Spock raised a brow, sat up.

Spock dressed and reviewed his day's course materials while Kirk showered. Kirk emerged, skin flushed, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked fit, stood with his shoulders back without appearing to try.

"You should go," Kirk said. "I'll be at the Academy for my talk late afternoon. Where will you be?"

"I will likely be assisting Lt. Grange for a few hours."

"I'll try and track you down."

Kirk came close and gave him a damp, shower scented, one armed hug.

He let go and gave Spock a push. "Go on."

\-------- 8888 --------

Commander Overlander soaped up and rinsed twice in the shower, until the scent of machinery oils and oxidized alloys no longer radiated off her. She used to not mind the scent of ship innards clinging for days to her hair and her hands. It showed she didn't shy from work.

The heated bathroom mirror didn't steam up. She kept forgetting to find the breaker for it. It had to have one. She ignored the reflection instead, faced the grill of the frosted open window drawing out the warmth of the shower.

She carefully dried her left side where the casing for her prosthetics was skin colored, and her arm where they were not. Her arm resembled a robot probe in a heavy soap bubble with a human glove on the end of it. She pulled on the long sleeved shirt she'd left hanging over the towel rack, put the vision out of her head.

She'd been onboard the Apollo for fifty straight hours while the new impulse engine housing was welded into place and verified by laser scan. It would accommodate a far better engine, but not one exactly the same shape as either the original, or the first refit. She didn't want any corners cut, any random decisions made if the drawings didn't match reality. That ship wasn't going to have a single gremlin when she was done with it.

After running so long without sleep, she didn't feel like succumbing to it. She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, put it in the processor to warm it. It smelled of hay when she sipped it. A bit off-putting, but probably a good sign given where milk supposedly came from.

She drank half of it and set it down on the counter.

Zienn was sitting cross-legged on the floor, but not meditating. He was reading from one of the books she'd picked up at a street junk sale. It was a thick book of earth mythological stories in Standard. She'd picked it up because it was absurdly thick. Vulcans read too damn fast, even outside their native language.

He looked up at her. He wore his usual expression of pleased existence, mild curiosity about what was going on. His dark brown hair was falling charmingly over his right eye.

She picked up her milk and went over to him, sat right across from him in the same position. He looked her over, looked back down at the book. She was relieved to not need to say anything. Was relieved to not come home to an empty place.

She wondered how long he was going to stay.

He looked up. "I do not know. Perhaps that answer lacks manners, or logic."

"No. It makes sense." She never understood how some people knew for certain what they were supposed to be doing. Either one was distracted enough to have a sense of purpose or one floundered.

He nodded, closed the book and pushed it aside. He seemed to wait for something. She’d noticed he did that when he lacked words. Just waited for her thoughts to come around to the right place and halted her there.

She thought about his physical presence, how lean and chiseled he appeared even through his robes.

He looked up.

She looked away and bit her lips. Her body was following her thoughts, physically yearning to know the feel of him.

It already didn’t matter. He already knew all this. It wasn’t him that was at issue. It was she that had to accept it. His telepathy had made her accept a lot of things about herself in the last few weeks. But this was much harder. If she thought about sex, physical intimacy, she felt subhuman, freakish. And very lonely. And even the last had little to do with anyone else.

All of that, he already knew. He didn’t react at all. It didn’t matter.

Overlander exhaled the strain of trying too hard. Her eyes felt hot. “Damn it.” Breathed in. Let it go freely.

He was still waiting with the same mild curiosity.

She wanted to ask if he was willing.

“I have no knowledge of this,” Zienn said before she could figure out the least fraught words.

“That doesn’t matter.” Relief flooded her and she had to turn her head to laugh.

“You find this amusing. Interesting.”

“I find both of us funny.”

“You often find me amusing.”

“Ugh.” She pushed her hair back repeatedly. “I’m sorry. It’s because I like you and you’re cute.”

“The amusement reduces distance,” Zienn said. “So I have observed. There is no such means on Vulcan to achieve the same effect. I would be kept exalted and aloof in a such a situation. I would barely be able to connect beyond necessities. No one would find me amusing.”

She studied him. Found his dark eyes were not one hundred percent black. They were shot through with blue crystalline veins. Sitting, they were exactly the same height, but he may actually be slighter in build. She again became intensely aware of his physicality, felt she could trace the shape of his chest and abs with her own chest, with her inner thighs, even without touching, just by imagining and wanting.

She bit her lips, but didn’t look down, made herself look directly at him in question.

He grew thoughtful. “I sense that my lack of skill is not at issue.”

Warmth was overtaking her, making her yearn. “I’d be pretty happy just to press against you.” She flinched at how desperate that sounded, considered standing up and retreating to hate herself for a while.

He took hold of her left arm, her unreal arm. “Remain,” he said. “I sense you are judging yourself unfairly. As if someone else were present. There is no one else here.”

She gave in again. Relaxed, but felt a vague sadness creeping in.

“Vulcans do not need so much touch. Humans do,” Zienn said.

She frowned. “I’m asking the wrong being then.”

“Hm. That wasn’t what I wanted to convey. I was attempting to convey an understanding that I would not be expected to have.” He took her arm again. Took up both. She could feel the difference. One grip felt like a surface tickle from the sensor surface of the mechanical arm cover, the other felt real.

“I am willing to attempt intimacy if you are willing to be disappointed,” Zienn said.

She snorted through her pain and self annoyance. “That’s not going to be a problem.”

He shifted his hands on her arms. His touch was light. His hands were long. Her body was warming more.

She tilted her head, moved to stand up. “Let’s do this on the bed?”

He stood with the usual ease, while she took two moves, shifting her weight to her hands, then heaving up with a rush of blood to her face.

She turned the heat up in the bedroom, then turned to him. He was standing right behind her. She ran her fingers along his robe collar, wondered if there could be regret lurking here, but couldn’t see any. He reached inside the front of his robe and unhooked it in two places, let her slide it off. His expression remained the same, a faint curious calm.

She dropped the robe and slid her hands around him, down his corded back. He tipped his head back. She stepped back. “This all right?”

He appeared confused. “You cannot harm me in this way. You seem to believe you can.”

“We’re always told not to touch Vulcans.”

“I have no difficulty with shielding my thoughts.”

“I’d say not. You’re in everyone’s thoughts all the time.” She held him at arm’s length. “Your Standard is getting good.”

He nodded. “Reading books and minds. I find I enjoy the informal learning.”

“How about some more informal learning?”

“I would be pleased with that.”

She lifted the covers and slid under them and over to the far side of the bed. His eyes slid over her clothes and he joined her without comment. She ordered the window to fully black out. Only then did she pull off her workout pants and slide them out the side of the covers, followed by her workout shirt.

She inched back over to the other side, had to find him by feel in the darkness. They lay side by side facing each other with the covers forming a bridge between them.

“I’m half machine,” Overlander said. “I know you’re not fond of machines.”

“You are the only machine that feels alive.”

Her mechanical hand was taken up, pressed between his two hands. His fingers slid over hers.

Zienn said, “I can sense your thoughts through this device. It is a commingling of life and machine. I did not think such possible.”

She shifted closer, freed her hand and slid them around him in a crooked hug, pulled his torso closer and rubbed against him with her fleshy right side.

“Still okay? Annoying that I’m asking?”

His voice was muted by the covers. “Yes. And if you need to ask, that is acceptable.”

She pulled close again, shifted her hips until the softness of his genitals touched the mound above her groin. Her breath felt short, like one drowning. She took his hip in her hand and pressed their bodies tight together, caught his limp penis against the lips of her labia.

His hands traced around her waist, flattened and rested there, barely touching.

She bit her lips, wanted his hands on her without reserve.

One hand strayed upward, awkwardly brushed her real breast. She gave a moan of relief. The hand became more sure of itself, cupped and explored with delicate movements.

She moved her hips against him. “Do you think you can . . .?”

His hands returned to her waist. She felt a swelling against her vulva, became acutely aware of his incredibly slow breathing, the rise and fall of his narrow chest. She ran a hand over his chest in the small space between them. The swelling pressed more, folded. She pulled back and took him in hand. Explored the double ridge, stroked. His breath on her neck didn’t change at all.

She lifted a leg and slid him between her legs, shivered as the double ridge ran along her hyper sensitive organs.

“I need you.” She sounded choked. She wanted him on top of her, in her, touching deep.

There was a pause before he shifted up on an elbow. She spread her legs, steered him. She didn’t care that half her torso was a machine, one lung and one kidney built from tissues hanging on artificial structures. She just wanted him in her.

His chest pressed heavily as he adjusted his position. She lifted her hips, used her mechanical hand to steer his erection, forgetting that she probably shouldn’t touch him with that. It didn’t matter, he was sliding in, touching deeper. She tilted her head back and made a choking noise of pleasure.

He pulled back, and she lifted her hips, chasing him. He fell out and she gave a sigh of disappointment.

The covers shifted as he adjusted position. She hooked a foot behind his thigh to ensure he didn’t go too far away. He pushed up on his hands. She ran her hands up and down his chest, dropped her foot and lifted her hips trying to find his erection with her crotch.

“Again?” She swallowed, tried to slow her breathing. “It’s not usually just one in and out. In case you were confused.”

“I am not confused. I am observing.”

“You can see? It’s really dark.”

“I have no difficulty seeing.”

She tipped her head to tell the lights to come on dim. “In that case I want to see you, damn it.”

She ran her hands over his chest, the stray hairs around his nipples, straight and brown, like the hair on his head. She saw herself in the low orange light as well, spread below him, one prosthetic breast, the artificially raised shape of the plastic covered left side of her torso trying to mimic bone and muscle.

His knee pushed her knee to the side, his glans pressed at her vagina. The first ridge slid in, then the second. He held there without effort.

“Look up at me,” he said

This was a command and it startled her.

He shoved into her fully. Her eyes snapped closed with a moan.

“Don’t stop.” She tossed her head. “I can’t believe I just said that. Just don’t.”

She licked her fingers, slid them down between them to tease at her vulva. His wet fingers came in beside hers, took over. He seemed to sense exactly how to touch.

She opened her eyes on his calm face, the flexing of his torso, muscles accentuated by the bedside lamp as he thrust. You would not know from his expression what he was doing.

Orgasm felt close immediately. She arched her back, shifted her hips to meet him, groin tight, came.

She thrashed but the stimulation didn’t falter. Her vagina clenched at his erection. She was making a lot of noise and hoped she wasn’t hurting his ears.

Her cries became whining pants. The spasms grew farther apart. He continued on, reliable and undeterred.

She took his hand, pulled it clear of her hypersensitive folds, sighed in relief. He put his hand down beside her shoulder and continued thrusting. She lay lax, moaning at each deep push.

He pressed in and stopped. Lowered himself on top of her.

She wrapped her legs around him, grabbed his ass and pulled hard, rocked her hips.

“I needed that. That was way too long to go without.” She stroked his shoulders. His cock was still filling her, rigid and full.

His face finally shifted slightly. He looked inward.

“You need something,” she said.

His head twitched to the side. “I know everything about this body, can control everything about this body, but I do know this pathway.”

“Just keep going.”

“I think I can regain control, if needed. I expect. If I cannot, I am a mere level four priest.” His brows lowered. “But I am much stronger than you and this pathway feels aggressive. I have overheard that Vulcans can be violent mates.”

She wedged her left arm between them, pressed it to his chest. “This one arm is as strong as you are if I override the safety, which I can do with a thought. I have the same problem with accidentally hurting others, by the way, Mr. Vulcan, who should really finish fucking me.”

His brows went up. “I see.”

He hung on his arms propped above her. His chest expanded more each breath, the muscles in each little muscle of his abdomen stood out. It might have been the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

He pushed in. Closed his eyes. She adjusted her hips and relaxed as much as possible in case this was going to take a while.

His chest lowered to hers again. His hips thrust harder. His hands crawled up her body, up her arms, his powerful fingers pulled his arms around her, pulled tight, crushing. But not painful enough to make her push him off. He made a noise of pain that could have been extreme pleasure. Kept thrusting, adjusted his hold again, found the left side of her torso where there was no pain, just mechanical unyielding hardness and surface sensors, and clutched there.

He was thrusting fast now, every third or fourth was slower, pressed fully inside, held. His entire body went rigid for several seconds, corded. He actually began sweating.

He softened and fell out mid-thrust, bent his head against her artificial chest and whimpered. She held back a chuckle, reached down with her real hand and stroked him. He slid to the side of her, lay still, eyes closed as she worked him. Droplets spilled onto her fingers and he released a long sigh. A sheen of sweat stood out between his pecs.

His legs gradually fell fully lax and his eyes opened.

“That was interesting.” He looked over at her thoughtfully, tilted his head.

“Here I thought I’d gone a long time without sex,” she said.

He rocked up onto his elbow. He was back to normal as if a shade had been drawn. “I was simply ignoring that need.”

“Why?”

“It was logical to.”

“And now?”

“I wish to understand what I gave up. You honor me by assisting my understanding.”

“What honor? I really wanted you.” She shook her head, looked down at herself. “Not too much machine?”

“I was not cognizant of your composition for the key minutes.” He looked away, brow furrowed. “I should meditate. I do not know if I am committing a serious breach of manners or breaking a human moral code by departing your side immediately.”

She laughed. “No. You can go on.” She sat up as he slid out of the bed. “But, I would like to know--”

He turned, seemed unconcerned with his nudity. In the low light his face appeared chiseled, a pattern that went down his body.

“You going to want to do that again. Sometime?”

“If you would be pleased to engage in that activity again. I expect I can participate.”

“Good.” She fluffed her pillow, intending to finally get some sleep. “And I’ll try not to get too attached to you.”

This statement seemed to confuse him. He nodded. Picked up his robe and departed the room while slipping it on.


	40. Dress Uniform, Part 1

Lt. Grange glanced at his padd, slapped his hand down on the desktop before him, and stood up. 

"I have to go help with a talk. Administration is expecting overflow." He checked his padd again, frowned. "Last week, we had a presentation by the lead researcher in warp field technology and maybe got thirty attendees. Some young space jockey with no regard for the rules wants to come brag about his exploits and we won't have enough seats."

Spock raised a brow.

"I don't get to pick who gets to come and talk," Grange said. "Nor do I really want that job. But I do wish Student Events would be more circumspect in their choices. Cadets are damn impressionable."

Spock put his terminal on standby and stood up. Kirk had appeared in the doorway, gleaming in his dress golds set off by rows of medals, so many the metallic command insignia was lost.

Grange pushed in his chair and the next one, leaned heavily on it. "What a terrible example to hold up to the Academy. Someone who runs headlong into baldly obvious bad situations. And I don't care if he got away with it. That's worse. Bad examples that lead to bad outcomes would be fine."

Kirk's brow lowered, then a smile wrinkled his lips. 

Grange patted the chair back under his hands. "You staying here, Cadet?"

Spock kept his gaze on Grange. "I have not yet decided, sir."

"You could be productive instead of inspired to overly foolhardy behavior. Like every other student is going to be." Grange stood straight, drummed his fingers.

"Is it possible that the events seem foolhardy only at a distance, sir?" Spock said.

"That's generous. I would have taken you to be the careful sort, Cadet."

"I prefer to neutrally weigh the potential outcomes and odds and decide on a course of action based upon those. When the outcomes are dire, one may very well need to take drastic action."

"But one should expect a high likelihood of fatality in that case. That's my problem. By offering him a forum, we're lionizing this cowboy."

"I don't think it rises to that level of culpability, Lieutenant," Kirk said. 

Grange turned, froze. Kirk came up beside him, smiled at Spock. 

"You're-" Grange's gaze went down Kirk's uniform, back to his face. His stunned expression was overcome by a deep flush. "Sir," he said weakly.

Kirk spoke to Spock with soft affection. "Coming to my talk?" 

"I was not certain you wished me to."

"I definitely wish you to. But it's up to you."

Spock put his hands behind his back. "I will do so then."

Grange combed his hair back with his fingers and held on. The flush on his face had gone blotchy. "Commander, sir, I-"

"You were speaking out of turn." Kirk spoke crisply. "I noticed. If you have criticism, I ask that you please bring it to me directly."

Grange dropped his hands to his sides. "Yes, sir. I didn't realize. Or imagine-- Oh, dreck." Grange gathered himself up, shook his head again. Looked to Spock. "Cadet, I could use an assistant for the event." He paused. "If you are willing."

"Of course, sir."

"I need to get going." Kirk gave Spock another smile. "I'll see you there."

"I should walk you," Grange said, hurriedly pushing in another chair so there was a clear path to the door.

"What are you worried about, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know," Grange said. 

"Fair enough," Kirk said.

The corridors were quiet. The few who walked by craned their necks around to take in Kirk and his glittering uniform. He was difficult to miss in a world of woven steel blues.

A bald ensign with high arched brows and dark accented eyes wearing Academy insignia swept up to them. "Commander Kirk. Pleased to actually meet you. I'm Kelia, from Student Events. I'm going to introduce you before your presentation. Then escort you to the after events."

Kirk looked her up and down, appeared to hesitate responding. Spock felt something odd from her, a warm promise of something sensual.

"Thank you, Ensign," Kirk said with a bow, gestured that she should lead on. 

Kirk turned abruptly to Spock as they walked. "Good classes today?"

"Yes."

"Not much of an answer."

"I assumed that you should be concentrating your inner attention on your talk."

"I'm trying to avoid it, actually, until I have no choice." 

They reached the wider corridors surrounding the auditorium. People were gathering here, filling the hall with a warm chatting. Kelia gestured down an empty side corridor. "This way, Commander. We'll go in by the dais."

Spock felt it again. Something tugging at his nerves low in his abdomen.

"Just a moment, Ensign," Kirk said. He stood and watched someone approaching from the brightness of the outside doors.

"Lt. Ducal," Kirk said as the figure came closer.

Ducal's expression was grim. "Admiral wanted me to sit in. I thought I'd inform you I was, upfront."

"Oh, I expected it," Kirk said. "I have to get past this one last test to get out of this shiny suit and into the field. I realize that."

"I don't think it's that dire, Commander. The Admiral is more honestly curious how you'll do. He thinks you have a future navigating the politics of Starfleet Command."

Kirk tipped his head back, recovered a second later. "Save me from that," he said. 

"Commander?" Kelia said, arm out. "I'd like to start right on time."

"Yes, of course."

Kirk filled his lungs, tilted his head doubtfully, and followed her.

In the auditorium, Spock stood along the side wall beside Lt. Grange who skulked there between bouts of hurrying off to make sure things were attended to. The seating lights dimmed and Grange returned, gaze going over the mostly full seats. The handfuls of upperclassmen gathered around the doorways wore doubtful expressions that said their interest needed to be piqued to commit to coming in. Kirk waited outside the double doors near the front corner of the dais. He was bending his head to listen to something Kelia was saying.

Without looking at Spock, Grange said, "Your rebellious human boyfriend, eh?"

"You still have not read my record, sir."

"No, and now I'm scared to." Grange glanced at his padd, shoved it back into the utility pouch on his belt. He sighed, not loudly, but Spock heard it loudly.

"Have I offended you, sir?"

Grange's jaw worked. "You could have warned me."

"Vulcans do not as a rule share personal information. It makes us rather uncomfortable to do so."

Grange snorted. "You really know how to pick 'em."

After a long gap, he added, "Your father must be overjoyed."

"He has come to accept it."

"He no longer thinks he's a bad influence?"

Spock knew better, but also knew the proper response. "I did not say that."

Ensign Kelia stepped onto the dais and clicked over to the podium. She looked younger in the stage lights, like a student. Her long lashes cast shadows into her cheeks. "Today in our series on Command in the Field we have the famous, or infamous, depending . . . Lt. Commander James Kirk." She smiled with feeling in the direction of the doorway where Kirk waited, hands on hips.

"Commander Kirk was pivotal in the Battle at the Top of the Galaxy, and is also called the Hero of Wolfram. She went on with the highlights of Kirk's resume, glancing over repeatedly to send an irrepressible grin his way.

Grange leaned closer to Spock. "I always suspected her of being an eighth or a quarter Deltan. She always gets anyone she sets her eye on. Can I safely assume she is going to crash and burn here?"

"Ensign Kelia, sir? Yes, that is a safe assumption."

Kirk stepped up to the podium to polite clapping that nevertheless filled the hall. Kirk's eyes moved over the room, gauging, calculating. 

Kirk said, "I'm going to talk today about incomplete information." 

The room settled with a rumble to a fabricky hush.

"Incomplete information is the reality for every one of us, but it's especially profound for those who need to make decisions. Which we all do. But some of us will be authorized to make decisions for others, sometimes for many others. That's a serious responsibility."

Kirk scanned the hall, put a hand out straight onto the podium. His medals clinked together as his uniform bunched. He dropped his hand and brushed them straight. 

"By the way, the real commendation is surviving. If you take one thing away from this talk, let it be that. We issue a lot of medals posthumously. Don't let them give you one of those."

Smiles appeared among the listeners. 

"I'll confess to you that this is my first dress uniform. My clever plan was to make it impossible to bury me. By not owning one to do it in." Kirk pulled his tunic down snug. "I might be in trouble now. But, dress uniform waiting or not, it turns out there are a hell of a lot of ways to get vaporized."

There were more smiles.

"But as I was saying, there is no such thing as perfect information. Ever." He lifted his fingers to count on them. "You always have incomplete information. Second, not making a decision is a decision. You can decide not to decide. But do so with intent. With a plan for what will trigger a decision. Thirdly, no decisions are final. And yes, that will make those under you annoyed as hell with you. You know what? That's not a decision-making problem. That's a communication problem. Or a leadership problem."

"Why'd you decide to attack the Sanchez alone?" someone asked from the middle of the auditorium. 

Beside Spock, Grange raised his chin and looked for the speaker.

Kirk fell thoughtful. "I didn't see a choice. I had a rapidly dwindling element of surprise and possibly a week before reinforcements arrived. We could have hid in the asteroids, for a while. Not a week. And I assumed, correctly, that my old shipmates were imprisoned nearby and suffering without relief."

Kirk put his hands up on the podium. "Dionysus is an awkward class of ship. She's okay in convoy, but alone she faces a lot of enemies bigger than her. Starfleet's patrol is and was stretched dangerously thin in that part of the galaxy. 

"It's all in the official report. Maybe you fell asleep reading it."

More smiles, and a few chuckles.

"By the way, reporting may feel painful, like peeling fresh dermaskin off a Denebian sunburn kind of painful. But it's a critical part of improving your decisions, forcing you to self-evaluate before you forget. Be honest with yourself in your log. No one listens to them anyway. That's the second big thing I'd like you to take away."

Kirk gestured to the middle of the auditorium. "May I go on?"

The student in question sunk down in his seat out of view.

"Thank you. Decisions. The questionable ones happen in the gut, right? Well, no, they all do. I don't care if you spent a year picking out what socks to wear this morning. Measuring thread wear over the course of the year, estimating your activity level for the day. You still made a gut decision when you picked up black pair number 4. You know why it was a gut decision? Because we're animals and we need to get on with our lives.

"Now, that's not to say there is any excuse for a gut decision based on aversion to past mistakes or bad experiences. That's inexcusable. There is also no excuse for gut decisions without information. If you are guessing with your gut, then you've already screwed up and Great Bird help anyone under you. Your decision making isn't your problem. It's your lack of information gathering and a lack of communication. Or maybe everyone who might help you is already annoyed with you." Kirk paused to sip from the water bottle on the podium. "Maybe you lack delegation and team skills. But I won't get into that or we'll all miss the mess line this evening."

Someone raised their hand, an older Academy staff person in the front row. Kirk looked down at her.

"What's happening with Admiral Pritchard? Why didn't he get removed? Seems like there was more than enough uncertainty about his allegiance and competence to justify replacing him."

Kirk stared down at the podium in thought. "Uncertainty in the field comes in a lot of forms. One kind comes in the form of orders." Kirk held up a hand before the staff member could speak again.

"You aren't a robot out there in the field. You assess how to execute your mission based on a lot of things, one being that you have more localized information, not necessarily more complete. Let me be clear. Local does not mean better. It just means different. It can be deadly to think the lichen growing on the bark is the forest." He held up a finger this time. "I'll get there. Hang on."

The staff member sat lower, arms crossed.

"I don't want to tell anyone to always question their orders because that would be absurd given the kind of organization we are. Some orders you better stick to. Tightly coordinated maneuvers where others are relying on you to be in position A at time T ready for X signal. You will be there. But the farther you get from the core of the Federation the looser it gets. And our loyalty should be to doing what's right as a moral good. We are loyal to our fellow beings, first."

Kirk looked pained. He looked out across the auditorium at the far wall. "What do you do when you get orders you feel are wrong, or questionable. Or perhaps even written by the enemy?"

The auditorium fell still.

"Well, I can tell you that it's not an excuse for inaction. You take that knowledge into account. You aren't alone out there. Communicate. Learn everything you can and turn every bit of information to your advantage. Fulfill your mission, both to Starfleet, the Federation, and to the common good. If you do that, and you get really, really lucky . . ." He gestured at his medals to a few chuckles.

"But to your question."

The room fell still again. Kirk stood with his arms out straight, feeling the edge of the podium bite the skin of his fingers. 

"What do we need from Command? Guidance, central coordination, information, hand holding? Funding?" He looked around at the faces all peering at him. "You know what we really need that we can't replace? Something to believe in. We intelligent beings walk a difficult line between believing we want truth and needing to be told a story. We, each of us, do this. By the way, third thing you should take away. The people under you also want some truth and some story. Don't give them too much of one without the other.

"When you are in command, you aren't real. You can't even pretend to be real. You'll lose everything if you do. That's tough. It leaves you alone out there and I don't think it gets better the higher up you go. I suspect the burden just gets heavier.

"But as to Rear Admiral Pritchard." Kirk looked down at the staff member. "He's retiring. Phasing out. Change like that needs to be slow. Starfleet is a very big ship that can't alter course except over light years of open space.

"Do I, Lt. Commander Kirk, want to be assured that Command has purged itself of elements that undermined us during the war? Yes. But I don't know how they can easily show me that without undermining the story I also want to be told. So. After they show passable competence, over and over, I will start to trust them without a lot of navel gazing. Passable competence? You ask. We'll yes. I'll remind you of this." Kirk held up his braid. "My expectations aren't very high. Something that comes with this number and combination of stripes."

There were some smiles and uncomfortable frowns.

"Despite my experiences, I still have faith in the basic nature of the beast. We all suffer greatly if problems aren't fixed. Top to bottom suffering. Everyone. Six hundred and fifty worlds, many more outposts. No one would be spared if Starfleet experienced a debilitating long-term crisis. Everyone knows this in their heart and I, personally, trust in that to create good in the end. Maybe not in the short term when problems knock such a giant lumbering ship off kilter. But in the end, I do believe it."

Kirk pressed his fingertips to his chest. "We've had some rough going the last few months. I am, today, as I stand here, satisfied with the state of Starfleet Command. Will I contemplate my next orders with a critical eye. Absolutely. Will I, within 24 hours, piss off my next commanding officer. Absolutely. By the way." He waved his hand. "That's how you get demoted. And you will if you go that route at the wrong time."

More smiles, some pained.

"My last advice to you. You can't fight them all, so pick your battles with great care, and with as much information as you can gather. That is all."

Ensign Kelia joined Kirk at the podium, clapping as she approached. "Perhaps a few questions. If that's all right, Commander?"

Beside Spock, Grange crossed his arms. "Not bad."

The question was for details about action Kirk had been in four years ago. Spock thought the asker sounded worshipful. He crossed his arms as well.

"Kelia's getting touchy," Grange said. 

Kelia was resting a hand on Kirk's back. Kirk turned toward her as if to verify it, glanced at Spock, who raised a brow at him. Kirk winked back.

"You don't get jealous?" Grange asked.

"No." Spock narrowed his eyes. "But I can feel her unearthly enticement from here."

"Can you?"

Kirk ended the questions, turned and took Kelia's hand from his waist to shake it business like.

"Thank you for hosting me."

She indicated the side door out. "You have a dinner as well. With a handful of the top students in the command line."

Kirk sounded almost flustered. "Right. Almost forgot."

Spock could still hear them talking in the corridor.

Kelia said, "It's in the staff guest dining room starting in half an hour. And I was hoping after, drinks somewhere quiet?"

Spock didn't hear Kirk's answer.

"Maybe you should follow," Grange said.

"It is no matter." Indeed, Kirk would soon be hundreds of light years away from Spock, for more than a year. 

Grange uncrossed his arms. "You have great faith. Great enough to get utterly crushed by it." He headed up to deal with some issue in the back of the room where someone was waving to him. 

Kirk and Kelia were out of view and out of hearing. Spock followed Grange in case he could assist.


	41. Dress Uniform, Part 2

Spock sat in his too quiet dorm room attempting to reread for the fourth time the 21st century Martian Colony short work entitled Hills Like Moon Landers, Elephants Like Pole Ice. If someone had generated a random collection of phrases, it might have accidentally contained more meaning for Spock. The possibility that this work held less meaning than random phrases at least strongly implied intelligent, systematic input into its creation.

Spock could not concentrate deeply for as long as he usual could. He kept remembering the aura of Kelia's touch upon Kirk, perhaps unnaturally heightened by his own priestly sensitivity. Perhaps humans barely perceived her aura, although he was certain Kirk noticed it. 

Spock was unable to imagine Kirk would accept anyone else's attentions, but it bothered him simply to know that she was still near Kirk. Spock longed to go where Kirk was, to insert himself between them. Very soon, Spock wouldn't have that option. Better to perfect coping with the idea now, while the choice was present and control a real thing to be practiced. Spock considered meditating, but worried that might not constitute practicing control. He calmed his anxious energy and worked on his Propulsion assignment instead.

It was just after twenty one hundred when the door to his dorm room slid open. Kirk leaned on the door jam, still golden and aglow with medals. He brought the scent of the Academy mess and alcohol into the room.

"All right if I come in?" he asked.

Spock noticed the liveliness of his eyes, assumed the question was intended to be a greeting.

"Of course, James."

Kirk stepped inside, let the door swish closed behind him. He flipped down the bunk and sat on it opposite Spock at the desk. Spock sensed a staticky yet fatigued membrane in Kirk's body as he moved.

Spock could not hold back. "Is she partly Deltan? That is Lt. Grange's theory."

"No. Based on past experience, I think one hundred percent Rigellian. Some of them are that good. Deltans keep it to themselves, or take a hint."

Kirk reached down to tug each boot off, put his stocking feet up on the bunk, knees bent. His medals bunched together, clinked. 

"She was working only on me. No one else paid much attention to her, especially given her looks. That's another reason I'm pretty sure Rigellian. They can create negative attention at will. Too. Deltans are one-hundred percent positive attention."

"I was not aware of any of this."

"Starfleet doesn't cover it in Cultures. I think they assume you'll learn it on shore leave."

"I see."

"How'd the talk seem to you?"

"Appropriate. Lt. Grange grudgingly approved of it. Did you hear from Lt. Ducal?"

This cut through the strangely active fatigue pulling Kirk's limbs down. "I did. He said his report to the admiral would be positive, especially fielding the question about Pritchard." Kirk looked around the room. "I was just being honest. It's a potential weakness needing to believe in something, but it's really what we are."

Spock stood and joined Kirk on the bunk. He tucked one of his stocking feet under his other leg to sit comfortably sideways. He could feel a difference just being a few feet closer. Light years of separation over an extended time period was going to be displeasing.

"I think you are worn down," Spock said.

Kirk straightened. "I'm trying to resist. But I know I'm going to fail and am incredibly relieved to know I'm going to fail." Kirk sniffled and looked around again. "I don't know what my problem is. Why I'm resisting."

"May I guess?"

Kirk's moist lips crinkled into a painful smile. "Sure."

"You continually set higher expectations for yourself so that you can fail to meet them."

Kirk shifted his shoulders as if uncomfortable and resettled his arms on his bent knees. His dress uniform made silky sounds when it moved. 

"Maybe. I also worry as much as I ever have that I can mess this up royally. Nothing I'm used to applies with you and I feel like I've barely learned anything." He stared straight ahead. "And I can't mess this up." 

Kirk bit his lips and held them. "I got my orders and my transport already. I'm departing in ten days. I've never felt so at a loss and so certain that I'm doing the right thing in my life."

They looked at each other.

Kirk spread his hands. "I'd like to hold you . . ."

Spock didn't move. "But?"

Kirk bent his head, grimaced. "I've got my erection trapped under my waistband. Have had for seems like hours." He laughed through his nose and shifted back against the wall at the head of the bunk, parted his knees, which showed off the sheen of the stripes on the insides of his dress pant legs. He made a noise of frustration.

"Would you like a count of how many times we have been intimate?" Spock said.

"I can count. You're missing the point."

"No, I am not." Spock switched his voice to soft, let it reflect his affection. "It is all one thing. You insist upon striving for the unreachable." 

Kirk looked away, his face went from annoyed to resigned. "I have to."

"I understand this. And accept it." Spock put one hand on Kirk's ankle and one on his foot. "I also wish to be with you. Very much so. Can you understand and accept that?"

Kirk smiled wryly, nodded. He lifted his hands and held them out in invitation.

Spock levered up on a knee to get closer, took hold of Kirk's hips and physically moved him down the bunk, pushed him flat when he tried to sit up.

Kirk held his hands out to the sides and looked up in surprise at Spock looming over him, straddling him on his knees, one hand on Kirk's sternum, pressing moderately, but Kirk suspected it would press harder if he tried to sit up again.

"It was surprisingly difficult to remain here in my room this evening," Spock said with no expression.

Kirk let his arms fall at his sides. "You managed."

Spock nodded, gaze distant. "I needed to prove I could. Very soon, I will not have the option of being present."

"I'm entirely yours, Spock."

Spock's hand relaxed on Kirk's ribcage. "That was not at issue, interestingly enough. It is not trust. It is something else."

Spock drew his hand down Kirk's dress uniform tunic. Kirk tilted his head back in anticipation. His pants were opened with practiced ease. He grunted through his nose as his erection bobbed free. Spock's hands slid his pants down and off. Kirk's spirit lifted toward the attention, gave way, gave in.

Kelia's tantric aura had triggered pure animal need in him. But even as Kirk's body had responded, his desire had emptied. As if this part of himself wasn't his to give away anymore.

Kirk closed his eyes. These hands knew him, moved without hesitation, casual strokes lifted him out of grinding frustration and into open yearning.

Spock's mouth pressed down onto Kirk, lips offering resistance that made Kirk groan, made his penis weep. Warm liquid dripped down the side of his shaft. Then the sensation slid off, left him chilled. 

Kirk opened his eyes. Spock crawled closer, pushed Kirk's dress uniform shirt up, bunching his medals. Spock was still in his cadet uniform. Kirk wanted to shy from this vision, but his cock was too hard to be dissuaded. He had come back around to animal need, but this time with the full force of hungry desire behind it. 

Spock kissed Kirk's abdomen, rose up, dipped and kissed it again. He worked his way downward with excruciating precision. Kirk lifted his hips with need and Spock took hold of them, pressed them flat, held them there. He kissed Kirk's hip bone on one side, then the other.

More liquid dripped down Kirk's abandoned cock. His balls were starting to feel kicked. 

"Spock."

Kirk would have squirmed but he couldn't move far enough. The kisses were on his quad now, short silken head hair brushed his shaft, making it tighten and surge.

"Spock."

"Thee are mine," Spock said between kisses.

"Yes. Please?"

Kirk's heart was pumping in his ears. He could part his legs despite the undeniable hold on him. He bent his left leg which took some of the pressure off. Spock's hold didn't waver. Kirk's pelvis pressed into the bed, not painfully, but inarguably. Kirk resisted settling in and letting Spock have his way. He ached to move, to shove. And he'd prefer to not watch this from across his shining gold dress uniform, his medals.

Spock ducked his head farther, kissed inner thigh, began licking. Kirk swallowed a mouthful of saliva. His balls felt strapped to the base of his penis. He hadn't come without contact since he was sixteen, but it might be just about to happen. He watched Spock's trim hair shift between his thighs. Spock's fingers had more than the usual green tint, accentuated by the steady force he was exerting on Kirk's hips, even at the awkward angle of his arms.

Spock's tongue rubbed roughly over Kirk's right testicle, dwelled there. Kirk bent his knee farther, tried to curl his hips up. Spock moved to the left. Spock twisted his head and sucked it the this one into his mouth, let it go again after thorough exploration. 

Spock rose up and considered Kirk, eyes bright, possessive. Kirk had never seen such a look from him. 

"You okay?" Kirk asked.

The look was gone in a blink, replaced with Spock's normal calm curiosity.

"Yes."

"Okay." Kirk gave him a small smile. 

"I am not finished, however. I do not like your arousal to be kindled by another."

"I wouldn't like that to happen to you, either."

Spock nodded. Bent and held his lips tight, forced his mouth down over Kirk's glans. 

Kirk moaned. Spock slid down, down. Kirk instinctively tried to lift his hips, to feel that tight channel of lip covered teeth right at the base, but couldn't shift even a centimeter. He laughed.

Spock pulled off just as slowly, just as tight. Kirk couldn't imagine his body hadn't found release. Maybe he'd resisted too long.

Spock's tongue descended, but featherlight this time. Kirk canted his head away, breathed noisily through his mouth. His body fell lax. Maybe he'd be granted release. He expected he would, eventually.

Spock's tongue, just the tip, was circling Kirk's glans. Kirk's balls jetted and he gave a throaty cry. A hand wrapped around his penis, held firm, and the tongue continued just circling the head. He came again. Tears filled the corners of his eyes, burned there.

Another surge of orgasm. He lifted his hips but it didn't change the sensation since Spock moved with him. He fell back on the bed and let the rest roll out without his willpower. He kept longing for just a little more stimulation at each surge, but it was denied. Finally the aching pleasure died down and his limp penis was released where it ejected semen on to his legs two more times.

Kirk laughed and blinked at the ceiling. "Well, okay."

Spock climbed up and pressed close, began kissing Kirk's exposed abdomen. Kirk looked him over. Spock's uniform was still fully sealed, his hair neat and trim.

"I didn't mean to do that to you," Kirk said. "I'm getting the sense that even without a melded bonding you have a bond of sorts to me."

"Thy body's pleasure is mine."

"I noticed." Kirk felt distinctly unsatiated. His balls still ached. "We might have to do a little more."

"Indeed." Spock settled in beside him, took Kirk's penis into his hand and lay pressed against him holding it.

"We're going to get out of these uniforms for round two," Kirk said.

Spock's hand tightened on Kirk's cock. He rested his head closer to Kirk's on the pillow.

"No, really we are. I was just too far gone to care just now."

"Yes, James." Spock sounded sleepy.

Kirk wondered if jealousy could be exhausting for Spock. Kirk curled forward enough to inch his uniform tunic up and off. He tossed it onto the desk where it clinked as the medals hit each other and the padd. He rested back with his bare chest catching the room's warm air.

"That's better."

Spock's eyes were on him. He traced a finger over Kirk's ribs. "Indeed. But I enjoy the other, too." 

Kirk shook his head. "You aren't fetishizing Starfleet. Are you?"

"No. Just you."

"I suppose I'm the same way. I fetishize those ears on you, and wouldn't on another Vulcan. And other parts too." 

Kirk reached for the seal at the neck of Spock's uniform and peeled him open.

\-------- 8888 --------

"Lieutenant," Kirk said.

Kirk had found Grange alone in the intern office, collecting up tapes and electronic notice sheets. It was early, but Kirk had correctly assumed Grange was a morning person.

"Sir. If you are looking for Cadet Spock, I have not yet seen him today."

"I wanted to talk to you, now that I have you alone."

Grange stood straight, set the things he held behind him on the desk. His mottled skin flushed unevenly. "Of course, sir. I do apologize for--"

"We went over that already. I was honest when I said just keep your criticism directed to me."

Grange sighed, rolled his eyes. "Especially given who I was directing it at."

"You aren't going to change Spock's mind about me. So it doesn't matter on that count. It's just not productive to spread criticism where it won't do any good."

Grange met Kirk's gaze with his own dubious and hard one. Kirk smiled. "I'm glad Spock has you to interact with. You provide balance to his experience."

Grange shifted minutely, appeared to wish their interaction was over with.

Kirk said, "I've just received an eight month assignment. So, I hope you can continue to be there to remind Spock he has a lot of support around him."

Grange made an annoyed face that wasn't entirely a put on.

Kirk said, "I imagine it gets exhausting seeing so many kids come through here, then never seeing them again. Hearing the worst, too often about their first assignment. Emotionally easier to stay above it all."

"That what you think, sir?"

Kirk lifted his left shoulder. "It's the guess I'm working from unless you feel like telling me your story." He paused, but Grange didn't say anything. "If Spock needs advice he's got Captain Chanel he can rely on, or Commander Overlander. Spock too often doesn't want to bother anyone, assumes he can figure things out, even if the problem involves systems composed of humans. I hope you can remind him that it's okay to bother people with questions. Especially people who want to see him do well."

Grange nodded sideways. "I see. I can do that, Commander."

"Thank you."

"So. Where's your assignment?"

"Lohanna Sector."

Grange wet his lips. "Not enough of a hero, yet, sir?"

"Just doing my part. I'm going to be given two light strike platoons. It's a chance to see if I'm more than light and hot air."

Grange's voice grew an edge of anger. "And when you come back in a tube, sir. What do you want me to tell Spock?"

Kirk held back to keep his voice level. His eyes were threatening to get damp. "I knew you cared about him." He cocked a grin. "It's tough not to, believe me, I know. But in answer to that, I guess tell him the best path is the one that better informs him who he is, and to never shy from that."

"Even if you end up dead doing so?"

"Even if. But I don't plan to. I plan to return, hopefully get another ship command. Although. At that point Spock will be on Vulcan. I'll probably extend once or twice in Lohanna unless the operations have wound down or I'm offered something that provides better command experience."

"I hope this isn't just a game to you."

Kirk considered the question, and Grange. "No, it's not. I sound lighthearted because I enjoy what I do. But I'm deadly serious."

Grange picked his electronic notices up off the desk, struck the stack on the side to make them neat. "Interesting seeing all sides of you, Commander Kirk. The other night when you were out of uniform, the talk yesterday, you addressing me now. I admit I underestimated what you were made of." He looked down at the floor, shifted his feet. "I do wonder if I'd had a commander more like you, if I wouldn't have stayed in space."

"I think you're valuable here, if that's any consolation. You teach the cadets that hardnosed doesn't have to be cruel so if they encounter cruel that it's worth calling it out."

Grange held the stack of electronic notices with both hands, straightened the already perfect edges with his fingers. "For the record, it isn't that they die too soon. It's that every time you get attached, they do something insanely stupid, or they move on and become something you didn't really want to see, and one day you realize you've given away too many pieces of yourself and they aren't coming back." He switched off the terminal beside him, put the sheets under his arm and bent that arm, looking official. "I'm stingier now."

Kirk nodded. "I can understand that. And it's a load off my mind knowing you're here. Spock doesn't at all mind emotionally stingy. He prefers it."

"So. That's where I went wrong. I kept getting harder on him and he kept baiting me more blatantly, then going perfectly obedient, as if encouraging my behavior. I know what Skinnerian shaping looks like. I've just never been on the receiving end of it, not like that. And he's not an ass, he's good hearted. He's so unusual." Grange looked up, stiffened. "Sir."

Kirk kept his laugh reined in to a small smile. "No. It's okay. You've seen a side of him I've yet to see. And I could talk about him all day, so I should get going."

Kirk turned at the doorway. "Unless there is anything else, Lieutenant."

Grange said. "Stay safe, Commander."

Kirk fell somber. "I'll certainly try."

\--- 8888 ---

FINI

\--- 8888 ---

A/N It will be a bit (weeks? a month?) before the sequel, Distant War will be posted. Got a lot of projects going on right now.  
If you want to be notified. You can click on the Colony War series name and subscribe to the series. 


End file.
